


Pray for Me

by KrazyKeke



Series: The Lost Tribe [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Black Character(s), Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, Black!Reader - Freeform, F/M, Gen, In this universe you meet your soulmate in your dreams every night, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Black Panther (2018), Pre-Black Panther (2018), Reader-Insert, Romantic Soulmates, W'Kabi is your brother, Wakandan Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 10:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13809597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazyKeke/pseuds/KrazyKeke
Summary: Home is not where you are from, it is where you belong. Some of us travel the whole world to find it. Others, find it in a person.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised to give you guys a genuine Erik Killmonger x reader fic.  
> So, surprise.
> 
> Next chapter, we get the reader's POV and find out what's going on with her.

Someone is giggling.

He can smell the scent of flowers and hear the roar of rushing water from a stream maybe, or river.

“Wake up.”

Features twisted in sleepy confusion before his eyes slid open and Erik sat up, using his fist to rub at the corners of his eyes. His other hand is planted on the ground at his side, and he can feel the grass, wet with morning dew beneath his palm. The wind, wherever he is, because this sure ain’t he and his Dad’s apartment complex, smelled clean and fresh, so different, alien, compared to things in the ‘hood. And is that a **bird** singing?

Yeah, this definitely isn’t Oakland.

“Come on, come _on_! I’ve been waiting forever.”

Tugged to his feet, he’s half dragged a few steps before getting his feet underneath him and then Erik is running side by side next to the person. It’s a girl, he decides, after a few moments deliberation, he’s not sure why he thinks that way, but he knows it’s the truth.

“Yo, hold up! Where we goin’?”

He attempts to stop but she nearly jerks his arm out of it’s socket. This girl is freakishly strong! Digging in his heels, again, Erik tries to hold his ground and this time, she paused with a huff.

“Where we goin’?” he repeats himself.

“My brother showed me his hiding spot. It overlooks–” Here she pauses. No, that’s not right, she opened her mouth and tried to say **something** but _couldn’t_. That’s just the way that it is in the Dreams, as they realized after several failed attempts to glean important information, like each other’s names.  
“It’s important to my people.” Eventually, she settles on.

My people, she’d said this a few times, Erik remembers, but he can only remember that detail while he’s here, asleep. He hadn’t ever heard a black person talk the way that she did, so she likely was from a place far away.

So how is he supposed to find her?

Doubt and sadness creep into his heart but determinedly, he shakes the feelings away. He’ll grow up, get a job, work hard and save as much money as possible. Then, then…

“Show it to me.”

That’s the right thing to say, because she visibly perked up and she tugs on his arm again, only this time when she pulls him along, the pace is a lot more like a brisk jog. He can’t keep track of how long they’re moving, jumping over fallen trees and other debris, but when she pulls him to a stop…

“Here it is! Here it is!”

It’s a ravine.

The bottom of his stomach feels like it’s fallen out as he glanced down. He turns to look at her, and just like all the other times, it’s impossible to make out exactly what she looks like; almost as if he’d been staring at the sun too long, or the flash from a camera after a picture is taken, she’s hazy around the edges, blurred and distorted.

“This looks pretty…neat.” Erik prefers basketball and football, but he’s not going to judge what she likes or does for fun. “You just come out here to think or whatever?” He wonders if she has a diary like Shida from 4C, bright pink and glittery.

“No!” Laughter is audible in her voice. “It’s a secret and my parents don’t know, but my brother let me ride on top of a rhinoceros with him _alllllllllll_ the way down there.” And then she points towards the very bottom.

“You’re lyin’.” It’s an automatic response and she laughed at him, but Erik doesn’t mind. “Ain’t no way that y’all did that, that’s…”

“Fun.” She interjected when it’s clear he’s at a loss for words. “It’s _so_ much fun! I’m getting better and better. One day, I’m going to be able to ride without using either of my hands.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, okay! Maybe you will, but then you gotta stand up **and** ride with no hands too.” He dared, lowkey salty that she could do something that ~~dangerous~~ cool and he couldn’t ~~wouldn’t~~ yet.

“That sounds like fun.”

This girl is crazy.

Before he could ask or say anything else, she turned away from him, head cocked to the side as if listening to something and Erik felt his heart sink in his chest.

That gesture is also painfully familiar to him.

“I have to wake up now. My parents are taking me on a trip.”

The two of them stood there, staring at each other without saying a word, then as she turned around, about to walk away, he reached out and grabbed her hand. This was a dream, of course it had to end, of course, he couldn’t stay here. He startled when she threw her arms around his neck, half choking him really, but he didn’t push her away.

“Tell me about all the cool stuff you did or saw the next time I see you.” He gets the impression that she’s smiling at him now, even as she slowly fades away, like morning mist. And with her, the beautiful scenery vanishes too, until Erik is alone in the dark.

For an eternity, and no time at all, he sits there, until he fades away into nothing too.

When he wakes up, his Dad is watching him with those sad eyes. After his Mom, his father’s soulmate, had passed away from cancer when he turned two, things just weren’t the same. Or so his Auntie Jo keeps telling him, but he was a little _r_ kid then, it’s not like he remembers his mother.

Instead, he tries to smile, make his Dad feel better with a hug. “Good morning.” The words are muffled when his patriarch places a hand against the nape of his neck, pulling him forward so that his face is smooshed against his clean white shirt which smells like laundry detergent.

“Good morning. You slept a long time, lazy. Breakfast has gone cold.”

“Sorry.”

“Ehh, it’s fine. Come on. Up, up, up! Get a shower and eat.”

This is routine. Wake up after experiencing a Dream, a phenomenon which would keep happening until both soulmates found each other, pretend that his father wasn’t suffering from a broken Bond, eat, go to school and try to stay out of his trouble. That last part tended to be strictly emphasized more than getting his education.

Since it’s a Saturday, he gets to watch TV for a bit longer than usual, before his Dad sends him out to play with the other boys down the hall, Reggie and Ray. They bring their basketball and Erik spends the better part of the day shooting hoops with them.

And then he feels it for a split second.

Something creeping up at the back of his mind, the back of his skull; a high, piercing ringing noise persistently blaring in his ears, and the tremor that wracked down his spine so bad that the other boys thought he was having a seizure, nearly running to get his Dad until he begs them not to.

Just as soon as it starts, though, it’s over.

Leaving behind only this feeling of **wrongness**.

Playing the game seems trite and he’s about to sit down, but then he looks up, and he sees _it_. At first glance, he would call the thing a spaceship, but Erik knows better and before he can even think twice, he’s running back towards the apartment, ignoring his friends’ asking him where he’s going and if he’s alright.

The apartment door is left open a crack and he paused. Swallowed spit. Pushing the door open wider, heart hammering in his chest, Erik took a step. Staggered and fell down.

“Dad…?”

He already knows logically that there won’t be an answer, that his father isn’t sleeping, but still, he crawls forward until he’s right next to him, he reaches out to touch his shoulder and shake him awake. As he does, Erik takes note of the panther claw marks in his chest.

“Dad…Dad, wake up. Wake up! _Daddy_!”

Later, the neighbors find him, clutching his father’s corpse close, tears running down his cheeks unchecked. Eventually somebody hesitantly calls the police. Things are blurry from there, he’s asked question, accused of things, but all of that goes over his head.

He just wants his Dad, he just wants his Dad.

That night, when he succumbs to exhaustion in an unfamiliar bed, at his Auntie’s house, Erik looks for her, his destined soulmate. He needs to talk to **someone** , but she’s not there.

Erik is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please review~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nervously laughs then breaks down into ugly sobbing*

**Soulmates are a blessing from Bast. Treat your soulmate with respect and safeguard their hearts, body, and mind from any that would seek to harm them.**

Wakanda is a small, isolationist nation, the most technologically advanced in the entire world. 

The Soulmate Reserve Initiate Database (or S.R.D.) which had been launched in 1965 in the beta testing stage by Dr. Lethabo Markus, permitted fellow Wakandans to find their soulmates at a rate of seventy eight percent, however, Markus’ apprentice, Bandile, found a way to further improve this method, and by 1982, records had reached an astounding ninety seven percent chance of the natives finding their bonded halves before their twenties. 

While you learned to walk and talk, your parents, a Bonded Pair, subtly and carefully included things like the nuances of soulmates, into their lessons, as you grew older, the lessons became more detailed and you’re taught breathing exercises, some meditation, and how to manipulate the Dreamscape.

The first time you experienced a Dream, or at least, realized that you were actually having one, your parents are excited!  

When they ask if he (or she) has any distinguishing attributes from Tribes that you can remember, you explain that their ( _his_ , your heart secretly whispers, your soulmate is a boy) accent is funny, this comment makes Umama and Baba laugh and you frowned.  

Reaching over, he smoothed a strand of your hair away from your cheek, “Ah, ladybug, you also think that your umakhulu talks funny.” Baba gently teased. Just as you’re about to give the full explanation for why your maternal grandmother  _is_ strange and talked funny, especially when she ‘talked to the ancestors’, your father nudged the bowl in your direction. “Come now, eat breakfast.” 

Setting a glass of juice in front of you, she leans down to kiss your forehead, “It’s a very big day today. If you remember,” Umama added, a smile quirking her lips upward.

Oooh! You’re going to the Golden City!

Ignoring your parents as they exchanged laughter overhead about you, with gusto, you began to wolf down your food. Once you’re finished, you’re tasked with delivering a small bowl of soup to your brother, W’Kabi, who’s staying home today because he’s sick. 

“You have a bottomless stomach, so you have to eat all the good food for me,” he swirled his spoon around in the bowl, frowning. “Lots of meat and fruit.” 

Nodding seriously, “I will be hungry again later.”

You didn’t understand why your big brother dissolved into laughter that soon became hacking coughs, but still, you left his room at his urging. Hopefully the soup would make him feel better, but if not, Imanthi, the neighbor next door, knew how to take care of sick children. 

Filled to the brim with excitable energy, you hummed underneath your breath, sometimes breaking into a little tune here and there. You stayed a few steps ahead of your parents, though you occasionally ran back, if only to get their attention, and you’re rewarded when they swing you by the arms, high up into the air. 

It’s so much fun!

Once we arrived at the train station, you’re directed to sit on the bench and instructed very seriously not to move; Baba is going to pay the fare to ride, Umama has a call to take from work. 

Kicking your legs back and forth, back and forth, holding in a sigh, your eyebrows raised when someone flopped down beside you. Glancing to the side, you startle as you realize that this man is pale. Much paler than you’re used to seeing…well, anywhere. 

“Are you starin’ at me?”

Uh-oh, busted!

Ducking your head, you furiously shake your head, ‘No’. 

The strange, pale man laughed. “Yes, you were, poppet. I’ll let you know a secret though.” Perking up with interest when the word ‘secret’ is used, you glanced at the man from the corner of your eye. “Curiosity’s a good thing, little biscuit, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?”

He gave such strange nicknames and you had the feeling that he was making fun of you, even though he smiled. However, you had been told to be nice and respectful to adults, so you nodded, which seemed to please him because he smiled even wider.

“Y/N!”

Head snapping in the direction that you heard your father calling, you glanced back at the strange adult, only he waved you off, and you hesitated for only a brief second before dutifully running over to your patriarch. 

“Come now, the train is about to take off at any minute.”

The line to get on-board was already thick but it had gotten thicker while you waited. Umama managed to find you and Baba in the crowd, and you rode on Baba’s shoulders. Just as you and your parents boarded the train and you’re set back down on your own two feet, there is some commotion and you glanced back, head cocked to the side as you saw a few members of the Dora Milaje, always easy to recognize in their bright red uniforms, but what’s strange is that they were looking so serious and heading right for–

‘Wha-?’ 

It was the man who had just spoken to you! Was he in trouble?

There’s no time to contemplate things further. Very quickly, the situation escalated as the all female warriors drew their weapons, but the pale man only smiled, said something, then threw an object, small and circle, maybe silvery?, in the direction of the train. 

“Y/N,  _move_!”

Transfixed as you were, trying to figure out what he’d thrown, you didn’t notice how the other adults in the train panicked and cried out, trying to back up and avoid the trajectory. Someone screamed for the conductor to close the doors but it’s too late as the mysterious object is inside when the doors close. Umama swooped you up in her arms, fleeing backwards, and Baba is on her heels, wrapping his arms around you both. 

All it takes is a breath.

Then your world is enveloped in heat, fire, and  _pain_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally sat down and wrote the next chapter of this story. Have fun reading. Let me know what you think in a review. Or leave kudos, bookmark it, etc. Love you all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried and therefore, no one should judge me.

**ALMOST 47 HRS AGO  
**

This is the most favorite part of her day. 

Due to the stress of co-ruling a nation, Ramonda often found comfort and solace in the gardens. People rarely came here, she could, and frequently did, bring books to read, sometimes she’d try her hand at poetry or embroidery (she’s passable at the former, terrible at the latter). 

“Umama!”

Turning her attention away from appraising the flowers, she opened her arms reflexively, just in time as T’Challa skidded to a halt in front of her, and she reached out, placing her hands on his shoulders to balance him, worried he’d fall. 

His shoulders rose and fell from exertion as he sucked in large breaths of air. 

“What was our rule about running, hm?”

T’Challa knew he was in trouble. “Not to…because I might accidentally run into someone?” Tone uncertain, he flicked his gaze upwards at his mother and smiled brightly. “I’m sorry and I won’t do it again. This time, it was important for me to be running though.”

Quirking an eyebrow, fighting a smile, “Oh?” Ramonda wouldn’t be lured in by the cuteness. Bringing his hand from behind his back, T’Challa held out a [flower](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fworldoffloweringplants.com%2Fferraria-crispa-black-flag-starfish-lily%2F%23prettyPhoto%2F0%2F&t=MGZlZGYxOTk2ZGQ2OTY1YTAyZTViM2VhZDQ0Y2ZlNGZhYjEyZjA4NSxCVzlUVFZjaA%3D%3D&b=t%3AXMk1TwzrxXLoAD7rDaBoCw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthekrazykeke.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172007965882%2Ftitle-pray-for-me-fandoms-black-panther-mcu&m=1). “Baba, he told me to give this to you.”

Discreetly glancing towards the veranda, she’s not very surprised to see T’Chaka watching the two of them, a rare, open and warm, affectionate, expression gracing his face; a look that never failed to melt her heart. “Well, thank you for being such a good helper today.” Then she pecked each cheek, internally amused by how flustered the boy became. “Would you mind spending time with me? Then we can visit your baby sister later, yes?”

His face brightened and T’Challa nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

Tucking him against her side, Ramonda walked, pointing out each flower and giving the scientific as well as the common name. T’Chaka had vanished from viewpoint of the veranda, but she understood.

A ruler’s duty is never done.

“What happened?” T’Chaka queried, gaze forward, focused, pace brisk. The General of the Dora Milaje had no issues with keeping up.

“It is unclear how the foreigner knew where the vibranium mines were. He struck in the middle of the night. Three dead, two injured. One being a child.”

“A child…?” Wordlessly, he begged her not to tell him what he already knew in his heart.

“The child is dead, my King.”

His voice is rough when he asks his next question, “The foreigner, he’s been detained?” He received a single nod and T’Chaka nodded sharply, “Good. I have questions that need to be answered.” 

And so King T’Chaka learned something quite terrible that day: his baby brother, N’Jobu had told Ulysses Klaue about the location of the vibranium, had in fact  _hired him to steal it_. Klaue seemed to get a kick out of that, and in a fit of rare anger, he branded the man so that all would know what he had done. He planned to murder him and bring N’Jobu back to Wakanda to face justice but Klaue escaped and blown up a train at the border, escaping with a cache of vibranium. 

The destruction and devastation…he didn’t have words for it.

So many of his people were crying out for answers, for justice. Although he didn’t want to punish N’Jobu, not really, he was still his brother after all, and there’s a possibility that Klaue could have been lying?

Except that Klaue wasn’t. 

He can see that the depression from the broken Bond has changed N’Jobu into someone he almost doesn’t recognize. Someone angry and bitter, a liar and a hypocrite. But this is still his brother, his only brother. 

He can bring him home, help him to heal. 

T’Chaka doesn’t expect for N’Jobu to lash out at Zuri, cannot stop his own reflexes which are to end the threat. And in the end, he has his claws buried in N’Jobu’s chest. 

“No…no…nonono…”

N’Jobu laughed weakly. “’S okay…’s wha…I…” he coughed wetly. “My s..son…take…him…”

Ice filled his veins even as gently, so gently, T’Chaka laid him down. Tears well at the corners of his eyes at how peaceful N’Jobu looks, and he wonders how he could have missed this, how he let it get this bad?

Turning to look at Zuri, who’s looking at N’Jobu’s corpse with widened eyes, slowly, he rose to his feet. “You will speak nothing of this day.”

He wonders if looks like the demon he feels as Zuri nods quickly. 

In the end, he does not take the boy home with them. He leaves N’Jobu and his son and regrets. Because for Wakanda’s sake, no one can know the truth, that one of their own, a member of the royal line, betrayed them.

For Wakanda, he can bear anything, even a horrendous lie.

**~**

W’Kabi is a boy and for that reason, everyone believes he’s incapable of realizing the truth. They think he doesn’t understand that although he saw his parents just last night, Umama covered him up and Baba kissed him on the forehead before letting him sleep, they are dead today. 

Dead is a vague word. Killed? No. Murdered. 

Murdered by some faceless white man, if the rumors are to be believed. No one knows who it is that did this, or why. But this killer, this murderer, he threw a bomb onto a train full of people and just like that, he’s an orphan.

‘Y/N. I still have Y/N. I don’t have to be alone.’

His baby sister, so small and innocent, she was on the train too. 

Tears sprang to his eyes and he blinked furiously, trying to stop them. A hand fell onto his shoulder and he flinched before relaxing as he glanced up to see that it’s his uncle. 

“How are you holding up?”

Such a stupid question. Shrugging vaguely, he used the back of his hand to scrub at his eyes. 

“Not that great then. I understand.” Clearing his throat, his uncle offered him a bottle of water. “Drink this, come sit with me. I could use the company since your grandmother is badgering the doctors again.”

“Did they say anything about…?”

“Not yet, which means there’s still hope.” W’Kabi was about to shake his head and look away but Uncle shook his shoulder slightly. “I’m serious. What your sister needs most right now is our hopes and prayers that she pulls through this. I know she can, so pray…pray with me.”

Slowly nodding, W’Kabi prayed. 

He prayed Y/N did not leave him to deal with everything alone.

**~**

Time and logic didn’t matter here, wherever “here” was exactly. It looked to be the holding pen for the rhinoceros back home, but no one was here. You’d filled the containers with grass several times already before walking around to clear up any muck. 

Every time though, every single time, once you completed one task, the food containers would be empty once again. 

It was driving you crazy!

## You have to choose.

‘Huh?’ “Who said that?” There’s no answer and no one is around, still. “Hellooo?”

## You have to choose. 

The scenery changed a little, just enough that you see  _him_. The outline of your destined soulmate. You want to get up and go to him but for some reason, it’s an insurmountable task, you’re just so tired.

## You can stay here, where it’s comfortable and routine, easy. You know what’s going to happen. Or you can leave.

“What happens if I leave?” Breath stuttering, you blinked back the sudden rush of tears. “Please tell me what happens if I leave!” Silence met you query. Placing your hands over your ears, you rocked back and forth in a controlled motion, a whine trapped behind your teeth. 

If I stay…

“Ay!” He was walking towards you. You didn’t know why, but you knew that wasn’t allowed. Sniffling, you stood up on wobbling legs. 

Took one step and then another. 

It was like you were wading through quicksand, but you didn’t stop moving. In fact, you were just about jogging, almost flat out running. Once he was in arms reach, you threw your arms around his neck in a hug and he caught you. 

“You was gone.” He sounded faintly accusing. “You was gone and I couldn’t find you.” Now he just seemed sad, scared. 

Tear after tear fell down your cheeks. “I got lost.”

If anything, your confession made him clingier. Although he transitioned the hug into hand holding, “Can you stay with me? For a little while?”

Nodding, you scrubbed away the tears, “Yes… Yes, I can stay.”

**~**

“What’s the verdict, Dr. Khayone?” Grandma demanded, trying to affect a calm and dignified air, though it wasn’t working. “Is my granddaughter going to make it?”

He glanced at Y/N’s family, the uncle, the brother and grandmother, all desperate for good news, but prepared for the worst. He had been giving nothing but bad news all day. Smiling slowly, he nodded once, and they exploded in a flurry of happy yells and tears. 

This? This right here made him happy that he became a doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this, a comment is always appreciated, just as much as a bookmark or kudos. Just one and it can be :), that will make me happy. I'm doing something right. I'm awkward and I have issues leaving comments so I understand that social anxiety, but still. Anywhos! See ya later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all probably weren’t feeling the ‘let’s explore the whole possibly happier backstory’ idea of mine and that’s fine, lovelies. If it generates enough interest, I’ll promise to write a stand alone fic but I probably will never type it, just being honest because I’m a major procrastinator. Anyways, this is what everyone’s been waiting on. Our favorite ‘this nigga ain’t shit’ fuckboi is here~
> 
> For the purpose of these couple chapters, Erik’s girl is named, mm, Melicia (which is terribly cute in my biased opinion but whatevs)

**THE BLEEDING EFFECT. A PHENOMENON THAT OCCURS BETWEEN AN UNBONDED SOULMATE PAIR BETWEEN THE AGES SEVEN AND THIRTY FIVE; IT IS THE ABILITY TO ‘SEE’ THEIR DESTINED SOULMATE IN REAL TIME FOR A FEW SHORT SECONDS.**

Cracking your knuckles, then leaning your head back juuuust enough… you smiled, happy, when you heard a soft ‘pop!’ and the tension drained out of your body, leaning back up again and the chair that you’re sitting in readjusted to accommodate the new position. 

Beep!

Humming contemplatively, you glance at one of the computer screens; numbers appeared in neat, single file line, filling the screen, zero-one-zero-zero. Using the soles of your feet, you propelled the spin-y chair forward, typing in a few key codes. 

The computer beeped again and then you heard the faint hum of a printer coming to life. 

Getting up from your seat, you pad over to the foot of the bed, grabbing the bathrobe and slipping your feet into the house slippers. Once that’s done, you walk down the hall and take a right, opening the door to reveal the bathroom. 

It’s tiny, but functional, cluttered with natural hair and skin care products on the sink. A towel rack with two plain towels lined the wall, just below is a tiny dresser and a potted plant sat on top. The windowsill is lined with shampoos and body gels, a wrack adjacent with the shower head held soaps and a loofah or two. 

Closing the bathroom door and locking it, out of habit more than anything else, you placed the bath robe onto the hook attached to the back of the door, stepping out of your night clothes and folding them neatly before placing them onto the sink counter. Pulling the shower curtain back a little, you turn the hot and cold knobs. Placing a hand underneath the shower and getting a feel of the temperature of the water, adjusting and readjusting the spray until it’s perfect and then you step inside. 

The process of getting clean varies from day to day, depending on the way you’re feeling. And since the printer is steadily at work, you can hear it, even through the bathroom door, you take your time today. Once you’re all clean, you dry off quickly and wrap yourself up in a towel, then open the medicine cabinet to retrieve the tube of tooth paste and toothbrush, when you go to close the cabinet back, your heart skips a beat. 

Because  _he’s_  there. 

You can’t see his face, only the back of him. He’s broad shouldered and has warm brown skin. Dressed in designer black jeans and a denim, fur lined blue jean jacket. There’s an air of confidence that he exudes, even while standing still. 

Making a move to pull the towel tighter around your body, feeling self-conscious, when you glance back, he’s gone and you exhale shakily. Counting to twenty in your head, you resolve to shake it off, then return to completing your daily routine. A very long time ago, you had made the decision that it was better for the both of you  ~~mainly yourself~~  that you wouldn’t try and actively find him anymore. People spent their whole lives without meeting their soulmate, what did it matter if you were just one more?

‘For Bast’s sake, get it together! Life isn’t a fairytale.’ Spitting the toothpaste out in the sink, you rinse your face and gargle some Listerine. Looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror, “It’s all fine. Things are good right now. You don’t need a soulmate to be a complete person, because you’re  _already_ complete,” and give an impromptu pep talk to yourself. While not totally confident, you do feel good enough to lotion your body until your skin is practically glowing, and then do something with your hair. Snagging your clothes off the sink counter, you toss them into the hamper on the left with the rest of the dirty clothes and then retreat to the bedroom to dress. 

By the time you’re dressed and presentable, the printer has finally spat out a few sheets of paper, on them are a few museums with priceless  ~~stolen~~ African artifacts, such as masks, weapons, etc. One of these museums likely contained a vibranium weapon, and it was your job to find out which one; that was the task the late King T’Chaka had given you, and in his steed, Queen Ramonda saw fit to let you continue because you’re good at it.  

“Time to go to work.” Snagging your jacket and house keys, you stuff the folded papers into the pocket, closing the door then locking it.

**MUSEUM OF GREAT BRITAIN**

‘I’m buggin’ right now.’ Erik thought to himself. ‘Too much play, not enough work.’ For about half of a minute, he was sure that he’s hallucinating. Cracked. Because why else would  _she_ be here? And mostly naked, too…? 

‘She thick as fuck…’ Utterly shameless, he drank in the sight of her. 

Not too tall, or too short; average, though nothing to complain about. And, much to his relief, she’s black. He had offhandedly hoped for that as a snot nosed kid, but the older he became, the less he wanted a white girl. Didn’t know what he would do if he was cursed with a white bitch as his destined soulmate. But luckily, the universe is listening and he had lucked out. He loved the color of her skin, which is a deeper and darker brown than his own; the urge to run his tongue over her shoulderblades, and  _downdowndown_ , being so strong he had to swallow back the spit gathering in his mouth. 

‘No! Don’t cover up!’ Finally, she had noticed that he was there, watching her,  **THIRSTING** over her, and moved to fix the towel tighter–

“Good morning. How can I help you?”   

The connection between them snapped. Fizzled out. Went kaput. 

Honestly, Erik had to take a minute to loosen his jaw as he’d been unconsciously clenching his teeth. When the curator came to stand beside to him, a passive and almost friendly expression graces his face. He had been walking around in the West African exhibit for just under twenty minutes, and although he didn’t let it show on his face, he was hyper aware of the doubled security. 

“I was just checking out these artifacts.” Lips twitching in a smirk, “They tell me you’re the expert.” 

Her cheeks pinked with barely suppressed pleasure at being praised, even so obliquely. “Ah, you could say that.” Then she took a swig from the coffee cup she’d purchased from the museum’s cafeteria.

“They’re beautiful.” And they are. These are his people’s legacy, preserved and put on display. “Where is this one from?” Erik walked a few paces away, pointing out the object. 

“The Bubu Ashanti Tribe, present day Gama, nineteenth century.”

“Forreal?” Brows picking up in surprise, maybe she actually knew some things, he decided to test her more and pointed out another. “And what about this one?”

“That’s from the Ethoin people of Benin, 16th century.” 

Someone give this girl a raise, she wasn’t totally ignorant. Nodding with the barest amount of respect, Erik brushed past her to go to a display case which contained some type of tribal…hatchet? “Now, tell me about this one.” 

“Also from Benin, seventh century. The Fula Tribe, I believe.” Clearing her throat, she blinked, trying to keep up a professional appearance. Maybe she should have eaten something more than a granola bar?

“Nah.” Erik shook his head.

“I beg your pardon?” She’s flabbergasted. There’s no way she’s wrong. 

“It was taken by British soldiers in Benin but it’s from Wakanda, and it’s made out of vibranium.” Then he turned to look at her, smirk on his lips more visible. 

Her worldview shaken, she could only stare at him. 

And he could see that. It made him laugh. White people amused him thinking they were the smartest in the room. “Don’t trip. I’ma take it off your hands for you.” 

“These items aren’t for sale.” 

Smile becoming a tad sharper, Erik glanced at her. “How do you think your ancestors got these?” Moving a bit closer, he stared her down. “Do you think they paid a fair price or did they take it like they took everything else?”

Feeling indignant and refusing to show she was intimidated, she stepped closer to him too, “Sir. I’m going to have to…” Coughing slightly, she continued on despite the burning in her throat, “Ask you to leave.” 

Leaning in close, he decided to rub salt in the wound. “You got all this security in here, watching me, ever since I walked in, but you’re not checking to see what you’re putting in your body.” 

Bitch.

Erik reveled in the way she looked at her coffee cup with realization, even as the security guard firmly grabbed his shoulder, “Alright mate, come on.” He let himself be steered but just as he’s about to be led away, like clockwork, the curator hit the floor.

“I don’t think she’s feeling too good. I-I think she needs a doctor.” Covering his mouth in shock, he waved over the extra security guards as she curled up in a ball, holding her stomach. “C’mere, please!” Stepping out of the way, he watched as the guards tried to tell her that she’d be okay. 

“Step back, please! Give the lady some space.” 

Dispassionately, Erik watched as Klaue and his hired thug, dressed as ambulance workers, used silent pistols to take out the security guards, bar one. What…?

“Hey, come here. Come here, come here. It’s okay ” Gesturing with his gun, Klaue beckoned the guard to come closer and the dark haired male did so reluctantly. “You…can go, but just don’t tell anyone, alright?” Then he winked. The guard started running and got to the opening before Klaue shot him in the back. 

“Bruh, why you ain’t just shoot him right here?”

“Because it’s better to leave the crime scene more spread out.” The confusion is still apparent on Erik’s face, so Klaue elaborated. “Makes it look like this was done by amateurs.”

 _Oh_. Shrugging, Erik conceded that made sense. 

“Now, let’s see if you know what you’re talking about.” Walking over to the display case, Klaue raised his prosthetic hand to the glass and the appendage parted slightly to reveal the glowing blue color of vibranium. Seconds later, the glass shattered and he reached in, grabbing the hatchet and placing the false hand onto the slightly rusted part. There were minute vibrations and flakes of rust fell off, returning to a shiny silver. Grinning, he looked at Erik, who only smirked in response. “You are going to be a rich boy.”

“Better sell that quick.”

Klaue snorted. “Nonsense. It’s already sold.”

Shaking his head at the older man’s weird sense of humor, he said, “Wherever you travel, Wakandans will probably show up.” Then he went to go stand by the tribal mask which had caught his attention earlier. 

“That’ll make my day, kill two birds with one stone.” Klaue scoffed, placing his prize in the bag his underling held open for him. “…What, you gonna tell me that’s vibranium, too?” 

“Nah.” Reaching out, Erik picked the mask up. “I’m just feelin’ it.” 

The rest of the plan went off without a hitch. He’s loaded onto the stretcher and they put him in the stolen ambulance. Melicia is already there, and feeling triumph sing through his veins, he grabbed at her waist to haul her close and kissed at her shoulders and throat. 

And if she’s just a consolation prize, the one of many, for who he really wants? Well, Erik thinks distantly as he heard the doors close and then the ambulance sirens turn on before the car took off.

That’s nobody’s business but his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let ya girl know what you thought of this chapter, pretty please. Review~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised there would be an explosive first 'meeting' between the reader and Erik.

Wakanda has spies embedded in every nation around the globe. So, at his or her fingertips, the reigning King and/or, Queen, has a treasure trove of information just waiting to be accessed and utilized for the benefit of the nation. You’re not a War Dog, not a member of the Dora Milaje, retired or on the active duty roster. Officially speaking, there’s not even a name for what the small handful of people like you do, but amongst yourselves, the universally acknowledged term is  _uzulani_.

Wanderer. 

“Can you spare some change, please, miss?” 

Nibbling on a scone, you dig in your pocket, keeping an eye on the hobo, before fishing out the change that was left over from the snack you’d enjoyed at a cafe. It was a fair amount and as the person reached a hand out, about to snatch the money, you pulled it back. 

“Take me to her.” 

The words are stated simply and in a firm tone. Then you held out the money again, this time not protesting when it’s taken from your hold. Finishing up the last of the treat, you take a seat next to the homeless woman and the lady removes the shawl from around her shoulders before wrapping it around your shoulders. 

‘Glory to Bast, it smells somewhat fresh.’ It felt like a million ants crawling over your body, but you stay quiet and close your eyes. There’s a scraping sound and someone is lifting you upupup and away, to another location. 

After an intermediate amount of time, you’re sat down and you opened your eyes when someone cleared their throat. 

“Lookit you, Y/N!” Wrapped in a pretty, but faded and patched winter coat, scarf around her throat, and gloves on her hands, is an early to mid twenty year old beautiful brown skinned woman, teeth white as she flashed a smile in your direction. 

“So many years it has been. I feel honored by an in-person visitation.”

You sit up, absently taking note that where you’d been placed resembles something similar to an examination table. “I have missed you too, old friend.” Then open your arms for a hug. After a moment’s hesitation, Rukiya hugged you briefly, tentatively. “I wish I could say that this is a friendly visit.”

“Ah, I thought not. Very serious you’ve become, perhaps even one track minded.” Rukiya sucked on her teeth. “How may I help you now, hmm?”

“The West African exhibit, located in the Museum of Great Britain, experienced a burglary, though only one item was taken and the curator is dead. Poisoned. The security guards murdered and the surveillance camera footage a dummy image replayed over and over so flawlessly that no one suspected a thing. Would you happen to know anything about that?” You queried, even as you peered at her closely, looking for deception.

“Just bits and pieces, my little helpers have been telling me.” 

“Ah, Rukiya.” You tut. “Now, I know you are lying. Even as children, you have always been obsessed with gossip and things of intrigue. Tell me, and do not lie again, was Klaue there? Did he slip through my fingers?”

Rukiya half turned away from you. “I have already informed the General of what she needed to know. You are much too close to this, and I–” You reached out, knife close to her throat. 

Several ‘homeless’ people aimed their weapons at you. 

Rukiya didn’t utter a word, didn’t looked fazed. 

“You betrayed me.”

Her lips pulled into a frown. “I am saddened that you think so. Especially when I have only wanted to protect you, even from yourself.” 

Pressing the knife closer to her throat, you glare at your former friend. “Where is he? Klaue wouldn’t keep vibranium to himself, especially if he could make a profit. So.  **WHERE**.  _is_. he? Who is he selling it to?!”

“Korea. A little nook and cranie casino away from the main streets in Busan. The identity of the buyer still eludes me, so he or she must be someone with clout.” With a single finger, Rukiya pushed the blade away, uncaring that the sharp edge cut through flesh easily, spilling blood. 

The sharp tang of iron filled the room. 

You pulled the knife away completely and the others holding their weapons at the ready minutely relaxed. Turning on your heel, you hop off the table, about to leave. “Thank you.”

“Killing Klaue will not bring you peace, you know.”

Pausing just before you exited, you glance back. “Peace was never an option.” 

As soon as you returned to the rented cottage, you stripped out of your clothes. Aggressively throwing them into the dirty clothes hamper before padding into the bathroom. Goosebumps peppered your body but you ignored the sensation, stepping into the shower after adjusting the water to a warm temperature. Grabbing a loofah, you poured a dollop of shower gel onto the thing, beginning to scrub at your skin, doing this several times all over and then rinsed off. 

You didn’t even flinch when suddenly an extra body is behind you. A very  **MALE** body. 

‘It’s the Bleed. Just the Bleed.’ 

Deciding to ignore him, you drag the loofah over your right shoulder. 

Only to let out a barely audible gasp when he stepped even closer, pressing up against you. There’s no mistaking that he’s hard and your body reacted in response, heating up. “Damn, baby, while the silent treatment is cute, whatchu mad for?” He mouthed at the flesh of your left shoulder, arms wrapping around your middle to press your body against his even more. 

“I’m not upset.” You murmur. 

“Liar.” He breathed against the shell of your ear, thumb tracing over an erect nipple. As he leaned his head down, about to take the hardened nub in his mouth, your stomach clenched in anticipation, and, and…

Nothing.

‘Bast, that is annoying.’ Now you’re wound up  _and_ annoyed. Turning the temperature of the water so that it’s freezing cold, you finish your shower quickly, teeth chattering the whole way. When you’re finished, you dress in new clothes, and remove a key from around your neck. Inserting the key into the latch, you twist and then pull it open, reaching into a dresser drawer and removing a jewelry box, inside are your kimoyo beads. 

After a moment’s hesitation, you return the beads to your wrist. 

**BUSAN, KOREA  
C.I.A. HQ**

The King, T’Challa, had not been impressed with you. He didn’t believe your tale about following an interesting lead and Okoye even less so, as it was, your ears are still smarting from the verbal lashing she’d given you. 

The only one remotely unaffected and looked mildly pleased to see you is Nakia. You trade stories of your adventures while in America and staying with your host family. She filled you in on the sights she’d seen while traveling the world and helping anyone who needed it. 

Okay, the stories are a bit redundant, but you’re permitted a little hero worship. ….Right?

“Does W’Kabi know you are here?”

Fingers pressed against the one way mirror, you flick your gaze to T’Challa then away. “If he did, he would only tell me what you have been hinting since I got here, my King.” 

T’Challa said nothing.

“Get married, have some children. Get on with my life. How can I bring children into this world knowing that this…. **MONSTER** still draws breath, that he walks the earth unaffected by his deplorable and appalling actions? I barely sleep because I have nightmares, reliving the trauma of waking with bits of my parents’  ** _BODIES_** splattered across my face and clothes. We could not even have a proper burial, there was so little–” You swallow the rest of your words, lips clamping shut. “I am not okay, and I will not be okay until I know that he is gone. Do not ask me to pretend like I must for W’Kabi so that he does not worry.”

T’Challa, eyes bright with unshed tears, reached a hand out, cupping the back of your neck and gently tugging you forward. He shushed your quiet ‘nonononoplease-’ protests, the scent of his cologne filling your nose and causing you to close your eyes at the feeling of safety that enveloped you. 

“You can stay. You can stay.”   
“I’m sorry for guilting you. Bringing all that up…”

“Shh, I understand.” Using his thumbs, he wiped away the tears that had leaked out the corners of your eyes. “He  _will_ face justice, I promise, with or without Agent Ross’ permission, Y/N.” T’Challa swore. 

Of course, that’s exactly why everything went sideways. 

Karma at it’s finest work. 

An explosion rocked the building seconds after Nakia ran back inside, shouting at everyone to get down. T’Challa immediately shoved you behind a desk, and you tucked your feet in even more, hearing shooting. 

Looking down, you realized that your hands are shaking. Breathing in, then out, you darted out from behind the hiding spot, rushing by Okoye, Nakia and the others. Making a sharp right, you see that Klaue is being put onto some type of delivery truck, possibly armored, and you see the gunman. T’Challa, in full Black Panther regalia, is sprinting towards Klaue’s would be rescuers. 

A breath later and the gunman fires at your king. 

T’Challa is thrown backwards, knocking over a trashcan and barely missing you. The head of the suit reveals his face and he’s grimacing. You’re about to kneel down and check on him, but he waves you away.

“Go! They’re getting away, go. Now!”

Who are you to disobey a King?

You run faster than you’ve ever run in your life. Lungs burning, thighs on fire, still you push yourself harder. Traffic has slowed a bit and you spot a man, he’s obnoxiously straddling his motorcycle, trying to look cool. There’s an old lady behind him in a car. 

Obviously, you chose the motorcycle because robbing old ladies? 

That’s messed up.

Shoving him off, you apologize and threw a generous amount of cash at him, “Thank you for your vehicle. I’ll return it later!” You promise before speeding around several cars, dodging incoming traffic as the red light turns green. 

The armored truck has a head-start and you rev the engine, pressing the metal death trap that you’re riding to go faster. It makes a right, you make a right. It goes left, you go left. The doors open and an African American woman has a gun, you think it’s an AK-47, but can’t be sure because guns are just  _so primitive_ …

‘Oh no, she’s firing!’ 

Weaving back and forth, you dodge the trajectory of the bullets, counting them down in your head. Speeding up in the correct lane, you feel your eyes widen when the male, also African American wearing some type of anime-like mask, pulls the pin off a grenade. You leap to the left onto a canopy above a fresh fruit market just as he throws the grenade.

The fabric tears and you land in a pile of oranges and apples. 

BOOM! The explosion rocks the area, sending people into a flurry of panic, and the motorcycle is undoubtedly destroyed.

‘Oh, Bast. This is bad…’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a review if you guys could. Let me know what you thought! I had so much fun writing this chapter!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally made it. Hoorah~

You’d been scolded heavily by your uncle, M’Kathu, in private, and then you faced the Council and were publicly scolded by the others. Blamed for recklessness and excessive property damage while in pursuit of Klaue in Korea. Hands folded neatly behind your back, dressed in the light blues and grays of the Boarder Tribe, you maintained a stoic expression, chin held high. 

Things, however, soon take a turn for the…unusual. 

At the back of your skull, you feel an indescribable sensation, the type of awareness that one only achieved while in a fight for their life, and every minute reflex and reaction is narrowed down to the very millisecond. 

Could this be…?

“Is this man Wakandan, or not?” The River Tribe Elder queried, exasperated. 

“Tell us what is going on.”

Not even a few seconds later and the palace doors were opening. Members of the Boarder Tribe, and W’Kabi escorted a man in chains. You recognized that profile, the way that he walked and how he held himself, that outfit.

This was the man that had thrown a grenade at you. This man was trouble, danger, a threat. 

“Speak.” M’Kathu stated in Xhosa and W’Kabi translated.

“I’m standin’ in your house, serving justice to a man that stole your vibranium, and murdered your people. Justice your king couldn’t deliver.” 

Offended, you’re about to speak up and correct him, only to pause as you actually registered his words. 

Klaue is…dead? 

Glancing at W’Kabi, you catch his eye and the two of you exchange a nonverbal conversation, ending with him nodding his head. You expected fury to overtake you, to be upset that you hadn’t been the one to murder Klaue with your bare hands, but instead, you feel nothing. 

Just a sense of contentment, relief. 

Tuning back into the conversation, you see that Klaue’s killer and your King are in a heated debate about African Americans and how Wakandans had the means to change the status quo. “Our weapons will not be used to wage war on the world. It is not our way to be judge, jury, and executioner for people that are not our own.” T’Challa firmly rebuked. 

Looking at T’Challa as if he were scum, “‘Not your own’? But didn’t life start right here on this continent, so ain’t all people your people?”

T’Challa shook his head. “I am not King of all people, I am King of Wakanda and it is my responsibility to make sure that the vibranium does not fall into the hands of a person like you.”

Guilt churned in your stomach. Unbidden, your mouth opened, “He has a point, though, my King.”

“Y/N.” M’Kathu hissed, trying to warn you to stop talking. 

“Racism runs rampant in the United States. It influences everyday lives of the minorities, but is especially prevalent towards African Americans. More specifically, colonizers and even the other minorities, think that African Americans–”

Klaue’s killer cut you off. “You can just say ‘black’, it ain’t gonna kill you, honey.”

“It is very rude to interrupt,” Ignoring the hypocrisy of your own words, because you were on a roll, damn it, “And do not call me ho–” Turning to glance at him, your eyes widened as that indescribable feeling once again flooded your body and now you knew why. 

Licking your lips, suddenly feeling as if your mouth is dry, “Who–”

“Take him away.” 

Incredulity is the default emotion you’re feeling as you looked at T’Challa as if he’d lost his mind, but your feet are already moving before you realize what you’re doing. “Touch him and I will kill you both.” You warned your brethren, slapping away Osei’s hand as he tried to grab at your soulmate’s shoulder. 

Your  **SOULMATE**. Oh, Bast. 

“What is the meaning of this?! Stop these shenanigans at once, Y/N!”

“He’s in…You’re in chains. W’Kabi, why is he in chains?” It physically made you ill, to witness your soulmate restrained in such a manner. “Get these chains off him right now, brother, or so help me!”

“Calm down, little sister.” Amusement coats W’Kabi’s voice as he broke protocol and wandered closer. “I did not realize that he is yours.” 

“What?!”

Impatient, you fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot. Sneaking shy glances from underneath your lashes at him, and each time, he’s looking back at you, his dark brown eyes intense. Nearly too intense, and oh, he’s handsome. Internally smacking yourself across the head, telling yourself firmly to get it together, “Your name. Please. Tell me, who are you?”

As soon as the chains were off, his hands are on your hips, wicked amusement curving his full lips into a smirk, showing off dimples, and just when the anticipation might actually end you, he speaks, “I am N’Jadaka, son of Prince N’Jobu.” 

The words are spoken in flawless Xhosa.

As the entire room explodes into a flurry of questions and accusations, but you’re blind, deaf, and dumb to it all, because he, N’Jadaka, tilts your chin up, breathing the words, “And I’m yours,” Against your lips, right before he kissed you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you all thought about this chapter! Love you all and thanks so much for your support.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this.

“This man is very dangerous, isn’t he?”

W’Kabi blinked. Turned his head to the person making the query, only to sigh internally upon realizing it is his uncle, M’Kathu. For hours upon hours, he’d listened to the foreigner, the outsider,  _his sister’s soulmate_ , as he ranted and raged, doubtlessly destroying countless priceless items in the room he’d been locked into. 

Keeping an Unbonded pair away from each other in the first forty eight hours is unorthodox and inexcusable, a misstep on the Council’s part. A glaring sign that they’d gotten too comfortable exercising their imagined power and playing superior to the common man. 

If T’Challa didn’t put a leash on them, and soon, he’d always be undermined. 

His rule tenuous at best.

“Dangerous? Oh, absolutely,” W’Kabi nodded. “I could tell he was up to no good when he brought Klaue’s body to the border. Many years, we have asked the late King T’Chaka to eliminate the threat, to stop that crazy white man from continuing to slither in past our defenses and steal vibranium; to kill him and be done with it. Whatever his reasoning, King T’Chaka always refused.”

Impatient, M’Kathu waved a hand. “Yes, yes, nephew, we both know this. What I want to know is, if you knew him to be of ill intentions, why let him pass? Why not kill him immediately?”

W’Kabi didn’t speak for a moment. “I was angry at King T’Challa.” Shoulders slumping, he couldn’t look his uncle in the eye. “I looked at him and saw his father, making excuses once again, to do nothing. To let Klaue continue to make a mockery of the Border Tribe and our suffering.” 

He and his sister. That’s what it boiled down to every time, though other, whole families had perished, life seemed on stand still for the two of them, though their way of handling the grief varied wildly. 

“Nephew…”

“I listened to this man’s story, Uncle, and it became clear that his anger at King T’Chaka and Wakanda as a whole far eclipsed mine. I was prepared to end him, or he would end me,” W’Kabi isn’t arrogant enough to think that both of them would have walked away from that fight, if it’d come to that. “But something told me to wait. To listen. And to protect, if necessary.”

“Bast…” M’Kathu swiped at his brow, murmuring a short prayer underneath his breath. 

“To think that he would be Y/N’s soulmate?” W’Kabi shook his head. “And I had killed him? There is no coming back from that. I am glad that I did not. I know that I broke many laws in this endeavor and I am prepared to step down as Chieftain of the tribe, to face punishment, but I do not, cannot, apologize for doing what I did.”

“No one is facing punishment.” T’Challa drawled, coming around the corner. Behind him are the Princess, Queen Mother, and his own sister. 

Shame had him almost glancing away from the other man, but after a few moments, W’Kabi forces himself to look his best friend, his King, in the eye. T’Challa is staring at him evenly, a stoic expression hiding his true thoughts. Then he offers his hand, just like when they were boys, and he’d been a lost, belligerent nuisance. Swallowing, he reaches out slowly and the two of them clasp hands, just as he goes to pull back, T’Challa surprises him by adjusting the handshake to a warriors grip; a nonverbal promise that T’Challa has his back, and  _knows_ that W’Kabi has his. In another life, he would have been unworthy of such a thing, had almost been unworthy of it in this one. 

Bast truly worked in mysterious ways.

“Our brothers are so cute with their secret handshakes.” Shuri stated in a stage whisper. “Aren’t they just? I want to pinch their cheeks so hard right now.” Y/N murmured, teasing and fondness clear in her tone. 

“Shuri, Y/N…” Queen Mother Ramonda reprimanded lightly.

“Sorry, Mother.”  
“Apologies, Queen Mother.” 

“This  _is_ what  **YOU** want, niece?” M’Kathu rested a hand on the golden handle, looking back at Y/N carefully. “You are not going into this blindly…?”

“She was entrusted with all the information we have.” T’Challa promised. 

“Once you start the journey…” M’Kathu reached a hand out. “Do not stop until you reach your destination.” W’Kabi uttered, finishing the saying as he retrieved the key from a pocket on his person. 

“I’ve waited decades for this man. Traveled to distant lands chasing a  _feeling_ without fruition. Now he is here.” Squaring her shoulders, she walked right up to the door. “He is what I need and want.” M’Kathu inserted the key in the lock, twisting it until there’s a click.

“Let Bast guide your steps ever faithful, ever true. Stay in the light, do not stray to the dark.” T’Challa intoned, solemn, serious.

The door is opened and Y/N rushed in. 

M’Kathu closed the door again. “The others will be furious.” 

Queen Mother snorted. “Only fools ever interfere with soulmates.” 

Collectively, they each went their separate ways, all of them with the idea in mind to protect the two individuals in the room from outside interference and people who sought to keep them apart.

**ROYAL CHAMBERS  
N’JADAKA’S ‘GUEST’ QUARTERS**

You watch him pace the length of the room like a caged animal. Hands curling open and closed, twitching, occasionally striking at his open palm while muttering indistinct words underneath his breath. Upon first seeing him in the palace rooms, you’d thought him dangerous, had remembered him at the CIA Headquarters, shooting at unarmed and defenseless agents, probably killing quite a few of them. 

He had shot King T’Challa. Thrown a grenade at you. Helped Klaue escape, only to turn around and kill him after. Possibly killed the other accomplices. These were not the actions of a man at peace with himself, these were the actions of someone angry but cold, calculated. Someone with an agenda. 

T’Challa and Shuri had informed you of Erik Stevens, and his moniker, Killmonger. Then told his family and you about what actually happened to Prince N’Jobu. For years, you had naively assumed that he was still in the United States, but missing. To find out the truth, that he was murdered and by King T’Chaka? Leaving behind his own nephew to find his father’s body?

It sickened you, distorted your perceptions of the kind, old king. 

“Baby.” 

Glancing up, you see that he, your soulmate, is walking towards you with his arms wide open. Swallowing thickly, “Stop.” You tell him firmly, understanding intuitively that if he touched you, you’d be swept up in the Bond again, feel the overwhelming need to complete it, though neither of you are ready for that, truhtfully. “Why did you come to Wakanda?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he didn’t say anything. 

“I traveled to Afghanistan, Iraq, wherever the bond pulled me, but I never could find you. Just faint echoes that you’d been there and I only just missed you. So tell me, Erik Stevens, why did you come to Wakanda?” 

He slammed a fist onto the table. You didn’t even flinch. “Ay, don’t fuckin’ call me that! Not…” his voice broke. “Not you.”

“Why did you come to Wakanda? Because it certainly was not for me.” 

“To kill that bitch ass nigga you call a king!” Erik thundered, a vein throbbing and prominent near his temple. “I found my Daddy with panther claws in his chest! He  _ **AIN’T**_ the son of a king, he the son of a  **MURDERER** and I wanna put that nigga in the dirt right next to his bitch ass father!”

This man is exasperating. Breathing in deeply, you try calm yourself. “T’Challa does not like to kill indiscriminately. It is not his nature.”

“And mine is?”

Ignoring the baiting comment, you continued speaking, “He values family. You  _are_ family. Stop thinking everyone is against you, or out to get you.” Pausing to let that sink in, you watch as his eyes dart around the room, nostrils flaring, but when he glances back, his expression is neutral. “…Do you realize that in mere hours, you have given T’Challa reason to rally for your cause? Something that Nakia, one of his soulmates, has been begging for since who knows how long?”

“‘One of his soulmates’? He’s a part of a tri-soulbond?  _Him_?”

Feeling that the danger had passed, you step closer to your soulmate. “You were in America your whole life, and their version of a tri-soulbond is often perceived as very perverted.” Left hand trailing up his right hand to his shoulder, “He is a good man, and so are you, I know it. Please, let this vendetta die with his and your father, N’Jadaka.” 

“The world already took everything I’ve ever loved away from me.” That stung. “And I’m…I’m a…afraid…” Tears gathered in his eyes but didn’t fall and he tried to look away from you, shamed by his ‘weakness’. Hands framing his face, you gently turn him to look at you again. “…What if something happens and all of this, something or someone tries to stop it? Keep you away from me?”

“Most people in Wakanda know better than to interfere with soulmates, unless the Bonded pair shows signs of being abusive to each other.” Putting a finger to his lips, you hush him before the instinctive denial escapes. “I know you are not going to hurt me. It is rare that that happens here, but it  _does_ happen.” Once the defensive posture relaxes, you continue, “A lot of people would like to see you gone. N’Jobu had a title, ‘trusted adviser’, which carries quite a bit of weight. Much more weight than any other Council member. If you prove to be all that I know you can be, then that title falls to you.” 

“Damn, baby, no pressure or anything.” He muttered. You waited and after a few seconds, N’Jadaka raised your hand to his mouth, kissing each of your knuckles before twining his fingers with yours. “…Fine. I won’t try and merk his weak ass no more. Long as he proves not to be like his bitch ass father, we ain’t gon have a problem.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Leaning up, you pecked him on the lips once, twice. 

He hefted you up with ease, something that sent a little thrill shooting through your stomach. “I see how it is, I do what you want, I get a kiss.” Setting you down on the table, he stood in between your parted legs. “You a little spoiled girl, ain’tchu?”

Biting your bottom lip, you cock your head to the side, pretending to think about it, “Well…” Your pulse jumped when his lips find your throat and he pressed a little closer. “N’Jadaka…” 

“Relax, little girl, I’m not going to fuck you on this table.” Even though he said that, he grinded against your clothed sex and your fingers dig into his shoulder.  “ _This_ time. Though we both know you want me to.” Pressing a feather light kiss against your temple, N’Jadaka pulled back and took an actual step away from you, dark eyes raking over you from head to toe, possessiveness clear in his stance, but you didn’t mind.

He’s yours. You’re his. 

This was natural, and anyone trying to get in the way of that would be crushed beneath your heel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all unbeta'd. So any mistakes are my own. Much love once again for all the support, babies! Lemme know what y'all thought in a review, please. If you feel like it, of course.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't nothing but pain from start to finish.

**SOUL HUNGER SYNDROME. A HUNGRY SOUL CAN LEAD TO THE EXPERIENCE OF A WHAT IS CALLED A SPIRITUAL DEPRESSION. IF UNADDRESSED, IT PRESENTS ITSELF IN MUCH THE SAME WAY AS A CLINICAL DEPRESSION. WITHOUT ADDRESSING THIS HUNGER, THE INTERNAL CRISIS CAN ESCALATE AND BE MISDIRECTED INTO A PROBLEM WITHIN A RELATIONSHIP OR A WORKPLACE, AMONG OTHER AVENUES.**

“You cannot do this. It’s unorthodox, forbidden!”

“Wakanda closed it’s borders for a reason!”

“This is folly, such a venture will leave us ruined, exposed!”

“T’Chaka would never–”

It’s the last accusation, flung in his direction, is what snapped the frayed edges of T’Challa’s slow burning temper. Tapping the vibranium band on his finger against the throne’s arm rest once, he sits up gracefully in his seat, the motion sensuous and smooth, almost predatory, like a jungle cat waking up from a sunbath.  

A hush falls over the palace room immediately, breaths caught in their throats. 

“King T’Chaka was a coward,” The blasphemous statement sends ripple effects rolling through the room. Several of his late father’s supporters bristled, no doubt about to rise to the man’s defense, but T’Challa isn’t finished talking. “He was a  _coward_ and he committed the ultimate sin.” Pausing to let that statement sink in, dark brown eyes flicked to the side. “Zuri, cousin, step forward.” 

Murmurs filled the room as both men did as he bid. 

Zuri is looking at the ground, his entire being radiating shame, while Erik is staring at the older male, somewhat hopeful, somewhat shocked, but needing, desperate, raw. It’s an expression that hurts T’Challa’s heart to witness. 

“Do you recognize this man, cousin?” The query is phrased delicately as possible, his voice soft and compelling, a tone oft used for skittish animals or abandoned and frightened children, not full grown men. 

Erik visibly swallows. “Uncle James.” 

There’s a pause and it looks like Zuri might not say anything. And then, “…I am Zuri, son of Badu. My prince.” 

Once again, there’s a buzz of voices filling up the room. T’Challa waits until they calm down, and having needed a moment to compose himself, he speaks again, “Zuri is…he is something of a spiritual leader, a shaman by American standards, cousin. He and the members of his tribe perform many necessary rituals, prepare medicines, and harvest the Heart Shaped Herb. The list goes on and on, but he and my father, they also…” Exhaling, he wordlessly asks Bast for strength, “He had my father’s ear, acting as something like a royal adviser.”  

Erik had been here for several weeks already and been immersed somewhat in the Wakandan culture with Y/N. Everyday treated like an adventure wrapped up with a lesson at the end. It was lovey to witness the two of them get closer, their walls slowly coming down for each other, as they grew to know each other as people, not just as soulmates. He does not want to be the catalyst that breaks them apart, but at the same time, the lies and unspoken truths hidden in the dark needed to come to light. 

“Whatchu mean he was…” Breathing in and out, trying to corral his temper. “Just get to the point. Stop tiptoeing and playing word games!” Erik snarled, aggressive. 

Members of the Dora Milaje shifted, edging closer in case he lashed out. 

Before T’Challa could try and defuse the situation, Zuri speaks up. “I was sent to the United States before you were born. Right after your father, actually. My mission, as a War Dog, was to watch Prince N’Jobu, to make certain that he would not draw unnecessary attention back to Wakanda.” Erik turns and looks at the other male, which almost makes Zuri look away again, but he manages to keep eye contact, only just barely. “I witnessed your father meet his soulmate. Saw them fall in love, even though she was sick.”

“You spied on them.” Shuri sounded disgusted and Queen Ramonda quickly hushed her. 

Zuri nodded, still maintaining eye contact with Erik, “…Yes. Yes, I did.” There were condemning whispers now, even members of his own tribe stared upon him as if he were vile. “Prince N’Jobu wanted to bring your mother to Wakanda, to have her treated, though he said nothing about her illness at her request, just that he wanted his brother to meet the woman he loved. …King T’Chaka refused and the Prince was too prideful to ask him again.” 

Unnoticed, T’Challa blinked away the sheen of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. 

“She just became sicker and sicker, even with the treatments she could afford. The pregnancy undoubtedly would kill her, but she refused to hear a word about aborting you. Over and over, she and Prince N’Jobu would go through plans of what to do in the worst case scenario.”

“And then I was born.” Erik’s voice is raspy. 

“And then you were born, and against the overwhelming odds, she lived. For a moment, I allowed myself to hope. It was the last time I was so optimistic.”

“Nigga, don’t go off topic or pump yaself up. Like you was doing some heroic job.” Erik shook his head, stepping forward despite the way that Ayo made an aborted move to block his path. “You was in my life for years. Now to find out you was spying on my father, pretending to… _to care about us_!” The last few words are shouted and Erik opens and closes his fists, almost as if trying to shake away the urge to throttle Zuri. 

“I did care about you.  _I do_.” Zuri tries to protest. “Please, just listen…”

“There ain’t shit to talk about nigga!” Erik exploded. “It’s clear you and that bitch ass king of yours was on some shady shit. All your plotting and scheming and for what? That shit still came out anyway! Was it worth it? Huh?!”

“Prince N’Jobu was conspiring with Ulysses Klaue to expose us!” Zuri shouted. There’s dead silence. Nobody moved or breathed. “He’d given Klaue information about where the vibranium was being mined, how to get past the Border Tribe’s defenses, everything. You must understand, that he wanted better not just for you, his own son, but for every African American being oppressed–”

“Like father, like son.” M’Kathu interrupted calmly. 

Shoulders shaking, Erik snickered then giggled before laughing loudly, wildly. “I see what this is. Another attempt to kick me out of this…this, ‘holier than thou’ nation of y’all’s. Tryna down a nigga and spit on my father’s grave… Wait, he didn’t get a funeral or a burial. My aunt and I had to have his body  **CREMATED**.” 

T’Challa winced, half rising up. “Cousin, wait.” 

“Muthafucka miss me with all this bullshit!” Erik snarled, the veins of his neck prominent, teeth bared angrily. “This entire thing smells like a set up. Yo bitch ass knew about this right from the beginning and instead of coming clean, you just sat on it, and let me…let me believe in fairy…” 

Voice trailing off, slowly, he turned.

There you stood, hand over your mouth, eyes red and watery, as you cried silently. For a frozen moment in time, the two of y’all just stared at one another, then he took a step towards you. Several Border Tribe members converged around both W’Kabi and his sister, stances protective. 

Erik takes another step and another. 

“Do not take another step.” W’Kabi says simply, hand outstretched in front of him, a wordless command to stop. “Please.” 

Erik glanced at him briefly. “She’s in pain.” He stated, as if it weren’t obvious. “For once, she’s actually letting me  _see_ it.  _Feel_ it. Fuck, do I feel it down to my bones right now. And I can’t…Can’t walk away from her. So you can move aside, and tell these clowns to step down, or I will do something that we all will regret.” 

“W’Kabi. Enough.” M’Kathu sounded weary. “ _Enough_. Let him pass.” 

When it looks like W’Kabi is going to continue being stubborn, Erik speaks in a low tone, for his ears only, “If she Rejects me and breaks the Bond, that ain’t up to you.” Closing his eyes very briefly, he let out a quiet  _tsk_!, then W’Kabi steps to the side and the other Border Tribe members follow his lead, folding back into the crowd. 

Leaving you all alone and vulnerable. 

Making a move to touch your hands, Erik pauses and lets them fall to his side. “…I ain’t go nothing to offer to you. I threw it all away just to get here and kill my bitch ass cousin of a king. But then you saw me, and you knew. You knew right away even though I was almost too blind at first by the anger and need for vengeance. For justice. Even after I knew, I was still angry. Fuck, I still am most of the time. So I can understand…” 

He swallowed and slowly sank down to his knees. 

“I will  _accept_ if you throw me away.” 

Several long moments pass and just when the tension feels to be too much, you reach your hand down, carding your fingers through his dreads gently. “I could never throw you away, you idiot. I should punch you in the throat for even suggesting that.” 

“Don’t hurt me, baby.” 

“Shut up, stupid. Stand up and h-hug me, I need a–” Without wasting another second, Erik is on his feet again and hugging her close to his chest, which she doesn’t mind because she clings to him just as tightly. 

T’Challa loosed a quiet sigh of relief. Disaster had not struck, they were, against all odds, still together. 

Or at least going to work it out. 

Glory to Bast, it was a miracle.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love on me, leave me a review. We're getting closer and closer to the end.


	9. Chapter 9

Black women have the strength to endure everything, that’s what his Auntie Jo had taught him. As it was, she had raised him all by herself in a tiny one bedroom apartment in Oakland, not complaining once. Oh, she would box his ears if he said something slick out the side of his mouth and often, she got after him for ‘leading’ girls on; like it was his fault that females misconstrued what he wanted from them, he just wanted to fuck. 

That’s what he told every new girl and like clockwork, most of them seemed to try and keep sticking labels like ‘boyfriend’ and ‘boo’, or ‘bae’ to his name. 

It got too repetitive to keep checking them. Then when he actually  _did_ say something, they always got high key offended or shed crocodile tears. By now, he’s fluent in being able to tell if someone’s trying to play him.

Y/N is different, though she had always been different. Even when he was a boy, she’d always been a happy go lucky person, and if she wasn’t happy, then she acted very content. He’d thought that she’d led a cushy, easy life, something that filled his chest with exasperation and relief at the best of times. He could handle it if only one of them was fucked up, that didn’t matter to him, all that he wanted besides for his soulmate to be black, was for her to be okay.

Deep down, he had wanted to be her rock, her protector. When shit hit the fan, he’d wanted her to have the confidence, to know, that she had a soldier willing and able to fuck any nigga up that tried her. 

The Powers That Be or whoever, whatever, created soulmates and soulbonds in the first place, musta made some roll of the dice choices when they stuck he and Y/N together though. Because that shit that his bitch ass cousin and Zuri (not his Uncle James, never again) had just laid on them, airing his Dad’s dirty laundry not only to he and his soulmate, but to the entire Council and the few Border Tribe niggas in attendance, including Y/N’s own brother?

Let’s just say that if he ain’t think that T’Challa was soft as fuck, he’d think that the nigga was straight up loony with some of the things he did. Scratch that, he still kinda thought that nigga was on some other shit, then again, on one hand, secrets had led to this whole clusterfuck of a situation, but on the other hand, the nigga couldn’t hold water for shit… 

A hand cupped his jaw, coaxing him to look up, something that he did reluctantly. Y/N stared at him, concern in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

He placed a hand on her wrist, “You askin’ if I’m okay? Really?” 

Y/N ignored the skepticism in his tone. “Yes. I am asking if you are okay. You have had a very big shock today and–” 

“So, you sayin’ it’s all good what, what my Daddy,” Pain seared through his heart and his eyes are thankfully still dry, “He, they sayin’ he helped Klaue, your parents, fuck,” It is so hard to make sense of his thoughts right now. “I know you probably ain’t wanna embarrass me in front of errbody…” Swallowing, Erik tried to get it together to say what needed to be said.

“N’Jadaka.”

He didn’t stop talking. “That’s fucked up, okay? And I already fucked up wit you the first time we met, when we  _really_ met.” To think that he nearly killed her, even though he’d always promised to protect her, his number one, “So you can just stop pretending to be aigh’t wit it all.” 

“N’Jadaka!” Her voice rose a decibel, not quite a yell, but close. Mouth snapping shut, Erik obediently went silent at the tone. “…So we have not had the smoothest time as Unbonded soulmates. People have butted in, interfered and overall tried to control what we do because of their out of control xenophobic tendencies disguised as concern,” She was straight savage, “However, I would ask that you do not put words in my mouth or assume to automatically know the root of what I am feeling. This will not work if either of us jumps to conclusions and tries to make decisions for the other.”

A few seconds pass and Erik belatedly realizes she’s waiting on a response from him, and he hmm’s to show that he’s listening. 

“My parents have been dead for thirty years. You brought their killer to us, to my brother. Yes, it was for the wrong reasons, yes it is shocking to know what Prince N’Jobu did, but all the same, the dead cannot walk again and you are not your father.” Her finger pressed against the seam of his lips, stalling any interruptions. “I have had much time to process what happened to them, to us, to my Tribe. To mourn and scream and chase after vengeance. I thought I was prepared to end him, that I had nothing left to lose. Yet when he was right in my grasp, I hesitated. Fear made me choose life instead of…”

Hands going to her hips, he pulled her tighter to him, needing the touch. To try and provide some comfort because he  _did_ understand. The need and want to put the person who had wronged you in the dirt being an all consuming feeling.

“Klaue is dead and I am going to return to the United States,” Y/N said, calm. “There are still some African artifacts on showcases in museums and other places that I would see returned.”

“Oh, word,” He tried to hide his disappointment. “That’s cool.” 

She sighed overhead and then her hands are in his dreads, “I just soft balled a suggestion your way that you come with me.” Y/N stated, patient amusement in her voice and Erik feels stupid now. “It is relatively boring sometimes but occasionally, there is a stubborn individual refusing to sell the artifacts back and I have to get….persuasive.” There’s a curious edge to her voice when she says ‘persuasive’, something that makes the killer, the soldier part of him sit up with interest, “This is also the chance to get out of Wakanda and just be together. I plan to make this trip last a year. We can travel, eat good food, do whatever we want.”

“Baby, you had me at ‘get out of Wakanda’. This place is beautiful but it’s bougie as fuck.” Her face broke into a smile, showing teeth. “The next nigga try me, and I put that on everything, I’m bodying they ass.” Now, she’s laughing and that’s even better. Gathering her more fully in his lap, he maneuvers so that she’s underneath him. Neither of them are in the mood to be tryna fuck right now, even in this intimate position. 

Instead, Erik makes her laugh and smile, and they stay up trading jokes and making fun of irritating people. Sometimes they clowned on each other but it isn’t anything too serious or hurtful. He falls asleep with his arms around her and thinks that his dream of Y/N relying on him probably isn’t as far-fetched as he believes. 

**~**

It’s just after dawn and a small entourage has gathered to see you and N’Jadaka off, mainly you, but the thought counts. Ayo and Okoye stand to the side, T’Challa, W’Kabi and N’Jadaka pretend not to notice each other in a weird type of stand off, while Nakia, and some Border Tribe members converge and give you hugs and trinkets.

“You just came back and are already leaving again.” Marjani, a childhood friend of yours, sighed. “I wish that you and Rukiya would come home but I know it is not my place to convince you.”

“No, it really is not.” You agreed, half teasing. 

“We did not even get the chance to let Prince N’Jadaka enjoy the festivities when we threw the ‘Klaue is dead, it is time to celebrate’ party. You know the saying,” Now she smiled. “There is no party like a Border Tribe party!” The two of y’all echoed each other at the same time. “Jinx!” Again, y’all echoed each other.

“Must you two carry on like this…?” Okoye remarks, question rhetoric.

“She wants us to calm down like old ladies. Proper and respectful.” Marjani nudged you, speaking in a stage whisper. “What do we say to that?”

You cupped your hands over your mouth, “Turn down for what?!”

Okoye looked like she’d eaten lemon rinds though her soulmate and wife, Ayo, is slightly amused.

Marjani sighed, “Seriously though, by the time you come back, perhaps W’Kabi will finally get the nerve to go the mountains and admit to Lord M’Baku that he wants to sit on his big c–”

Deadpan, W’Kabi spoke up then, “Snitches end up in ditches.”

“I was going to say ‘couch’. His big  **COUCH**.” Marjani smiled innocently. W’Kabi cut her a ‘you’re not fooling anyone’ look. 

This was starting to drag on too long, amusing as it was, and you’re about to say so when Nakia hugs you again, subtly placing something light into your hands. Looking down, you see it’s a package. 

“Shuri developed it for you. Open it when you get to the United States.”

“Be safe out there.” T’Challa added to you and N’Jadaka. “Check in sometimes.” Nakia nudged him – hard, in the ribs. “If you want to, of course.”

“Bye.” N’Jadaka says simply, reaching for your hand and you don’t deny him. Waving over your shoulder as you turn to leave. The sun strikes at the opportune moment, highlighting the kimoyo beads on both of y’all’s wrist. 

You’re ready for what happens next because you’ll be together.


	10. Chapter 10

**6 MONTHS LATER  
** **ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI  
ZION HOTEL & SPA**

You woke up in a comfortable bed, with a thousand pillows surrounding your body, and a firm cock pressed up against the curve of your ass, a hand squeezing your breast. Eyes still closed, you stretch languidly and wiggle around but the hand doesn’t dislodge itself. “N’Jadaka, what are you doing?”

“Don’t play games, baby girl.” 

Grinning at the warning tone in his voice, you teasingly press back against him. He grunted before sliding your panties down then off. You reach down and take his cock in hand, feeling him throb in your hold. He goes to kiss you but you dodge the attempt, “We haven’t brushed our teeth yet!” You felt the need to remind him.

“So?” N’Jadaka challenged before tilting your chin up and kissing you on the lips, “…You right, this would go smoother with a mint.” 

Amused beyond belief, you roll him onto his back and pull his pants down. The sight of him always makes your mouth water. Climbing on top of him, you take in his expression, catching sight of the heavy lidded stare, the way he bit his bottom lip in anticipation, wanting nothing more than to fill you up, and that’s what you want as well. 

Using your hand, you grip him again, dragging the tip of his cock against you pussy lips again and again, teasing both you and him, but before he could tell you to stop playing, you then slid down on him sloooowly. Neither of you make a sound, except he lets out a quiet hiss, muscle jumping in his jaw as he held off on seizing back control. 

Pausing for a second, you let yourself adjust to the feel of him inside you. Once you’re okay with it, you slide back up, using your legs to rise and fall over and over onto his cock. His hands are on your thighs and his eyes closed, short breaths leaving his mouth every time that you drop down again. 

Eyelids opening, he lifted his hands from your thighs to the bottom of your shirt, lifting it from up then over your head, dropping it off to the side before his hands are on your breasts. Leaning back, your hands find leverage on his thighs and just as you wanted, predicted, needed, the sight has N’Jadaka more vocal. 

“Damn, baby! Look atchu!” Approval and lust coats his tone. Your head is thrown back and you grind down on him once more before lifting yourself. His right hand goes to the top of your thigh and every time you move, his thumb brushes against your clit. 

He watches as you fuck yourself on him, left hand on your hip and holding you steady until you feel that familiar pull in your stomach. 

You let out a loud moan as you cum around him, drenching his cock. 

“Fuck, you are so goddamn sexy!” N’Jadaka’s hands grip your ass, holding you in place as his hips rose off the bed and he thrust into you quickly, almost a little too roughly, before he groans long and low, the sound rough to your ear and you felt him cum inside you, hands squeezing your waist tightly. 

The three letter words begged to be let out but it’d be a pointless cliche to say it  _now_ , right, right after you’d had mind blowing sex? The moment had to be perfect and special, meaningful. You also want to go through with completing the Bond, had known you wanted forever with him; to know everything intimate about him, and for he to know you. 

“Ay, you aigh’t?”

“Mm, yup!” You grin as convincingly as possible. “Dibs on first shower! I need to shave my legs, I’m starting to look like one of those werewolves off that TV show, Wolf Teen.” 

“Teen Wolf.” N’Jadaka corrected habitually. “And, ya lying.” It’s a statement, not a question, he’d watched you closely enough to note all of your tells. “Tell me.” He reached out and captured your hands, thumb caressing the pulse point. 

“I can’t.” You mumble. 

“Can’t or won’t?” He challenged. You say nothing and he sighed, knowing full too well that if he kept pushing the subject, you’d only clam up more. “Aigh’t then, I’ll drop it for now, but I think we should talk about it later if it’s still bothering you.” Pressing his lips to your temple, N’Jadaka smacked you sharply on the ass. “And we can shower together. It’ll save water.” 

“The saving water excuse, really?” You snort, amused. He shrugged with a smirk. The two of you got from up off the bed with soiled sheets and made for the bathroom together.

Being away from Wakanda is…liberating. You loved the people that are important to you, of course, but time and space away from the things that made someone anxious certainly brought clarity. W’Kabi contacted both you and N’Jadaka merely a month after you’d left, though he and N’Jadaka had ended up having a lengthy discussion that still sort of threw you for a loop when you recalled everything said.

_“There has not been a recorded union between a Wakandan native and someone outside our borders for decades. Even more so, someone from the Border Tribe and an outsider. It just has not been seen.”  
_ _“Brother…” You say warningly, fully prepared to turn the kimoyo beads off, having felt the way N’Jadaka tensed upon hearing the word ‘outsider’._

_“I am not saying this to be belligerent or antagonize either of you.” He hastily stated, belatedly realizing his misstep. “I am only telling you like it is.” The holoform version of your brother turned to look at you. “The fable of Addae and Uwamani is a grim story but one to warn us of the dangers of such unions.”_ _  
_

_“Or to scare us into rejecting the Bond entirely.” You rebutted. “Which is not going to happen.”_

_“Good.” W’Kabi said simply._

_“Bruh, what?” N’Jadaka sounded as lost as you felt._

_“Your arrival, Prince N’Jadaka, stirred the hornet’s nest. Like I said, for decades, centuries, Wakandans have found their soulmates at young ages or by their twenties, amongst each other in different Tribes. Being half Wakandan, half American, excuse me, African American, that puzzled those within the Golden City, and even more so, it got the members of the S.R.D. to take another look at their data.”_

_The truth hit you a few minutes later and you turned to look at N’Jadaka who looked a bit surprised as well. “My mom’s wasn’t Wakandan.”_

_“There’s a less than two percent chance that she might have been.” W’Kabi nodded. “Of course, that’s what the Council Elders are clinging to in order to justify the Bond between you and my sister. They do not want to be wrong because…”_

_You cut in, “However wrongly Prince N’Jobu went about it, at the root of the matter, he was not totally wrong about African Americans and Wakandans being the same fundamentally. You said it best, lover, ‘Didn’t all life start right here on this continent?’”_

“Ready to roll?” N’Jadaka removed an earbud from his left ear, reaching for your hand, which you took and he tucked you by his side. Faintly, you could hear the sound of a female but weren’t worried. 

He was listening to the host of Timeless Everyday, a television show and radio broadcast that addressed superstitions and stereotypes of tri-soulbonds, she was originally a former YouTuber who only made DIY and tutorial videos showcasing how she customized her wardrobe, what things she used and where to buy them; her rise to fame came after she [dragged Taylor Swift on Twitter](http://thekrazykeke.tumblr.com/post/173740357947/in-which-taylor-swift-is-dragged-oh-and-her), berating the singer for denouncing tri-soulbonds as something ‘sick and perverted’ and tore into her even more for considering it ‘of course a black person thing’. 

The confrontation had been made into a spectacle of epic proportions, with Taylor Swift being ultimately labeled as the aggressor here and in the wrong, people had made memes of the blow out and it was still the most talked about thing. 

“And roll. We  _are_ still going to the Great Center of Contemporary Arts, right?” You double checked. “They got a new art piece that you wanted to check out, if I recall?”

“That’s the one.” Removing the other earbud, he tilts your chin just so and captures your mouth in a kiss. You blinked in surprise before you relaxed, hand winding around his neck as he deepened the kiss a bit. The surprise kiss ended too soon for your liking and you chase after his lips and he only chuckled, the sound deep and masculine, teasing you with a peck. 

Heart aflutter in your chest, you wonder what that’s about as the two of you walk hand in hand for the exit. The two of you spent the day roaming the city after being kicked out of the center due to ‘disrupting the peace’, which is really code for not fitting the mold of being a white couple and potentially because N’Jadaka made fun of some white person’s art, not that it wasn’t worth being laughed at over, the art sucked. 

N’Jadaka grinded his teeth and you worried that he would explode, so then you suggested getting something to eat. The eatery you chose is owned by Harold Hanover, the son of the host family that took you in while you lived in the United States; discounted prices were par the norm and the seating always private, away from prying eyes. 

 

“Mm, okay,” You hum contemplatively as you take a bite of food. “That’s spicy. Perhaps sriracha I’m tasting…” Savoring each flavor, trying to pinpoint every ingredient. “It’s good.” Opening your eyes and licking your lips to remove any residual, you catch sight N’Jadaka staring at you intently, his dark eyes watching with laser focus.

“…What?”

He ignored you momentarily, instead turning to the waiter, “Bring us a bottle of Romanee-Conti Grand Cru.” Once the waitress walked off, N’Jadaka turned his attention back to you, “You really cuttin’ up in here.”

Using the cutlery, you cut into the steak that you’d ordered delicately, “I have no idea what you are talking about. I am just really, really,” And lift the slice of meat to your lips, moaning as you tasted a hint of butter and other spices as you chewed slowly, “Hun–” Words failed you as N’Jadaka laid a hand on top of your knee, thumb kneading and caressing your brown skin.

“I’ma need you to act right, stop allat sexy as fuck noises you makin’. Or it’s gon be a repeat of what happened in Miami.”

Just remembering what happened there makes your skin heat up with embarrassment and arousal. 

_N’Jadaka had your legs spread open so that he could stand between them as he steadily fucked into you from behind against the hood of the car, his hands holding onto your sides and gripping tight enough to leave bruises._

_“You like this shit don’tchu?!”_

_“Y-Ye–” You could barely breathe, could barely even think._

_He paused mid-thrust and you nearly screamed at him with frustration. “Tell. Daddy. You. Like. This. Shit.” Slowly, teasingly, N’Jadaka thrusted in you again, though to call it a thrust would be exaggerating, as it was too gentle for that. Biting your bottom lip, your eyes screwed shut, sweat had popped on your forehead and your mouth is gaping, open, as you gasped for air._

_“I like it, I like it, I like it, I like this shit, Dad–” Pulling out almost all the way, his hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt, “–Ddy!” And he played with your clit, causing you to gush all over him. “Oh mah guh…”_

_You were incomprehensible but you didn’t even care at this point._

Something must show on your face because N’Jadaka is grinning, practically ear to ear, utterly amused. He kissed the side of your neck, lips lingering on the satiny smooth skin for a tad longer than appropriate, if judging by the waitress’ stare is anything to go by. You can’t be bothered to care though, right now you just wanted to get through this meal without passing out due to the teasing or embarrassment. 

Finishing off the steak and potatoes, you swirl the wine around in the glass, glancing up at the right moment to see that again, his eyes are on you. There’s something vulnerable in his expression that tugs at your heartstrings.

Opening your mouth, you’re about to ask what’s wrong, but he cuts you off, “You know I would do anything for you, right?” Confused but wondering where he’s going with this, you nod. “And nobody else in this world matters more to me than you do?”

Now you know that’s not true. He had talked about his Aunt Josephine with equal parts amusement and exasperation but altogether respect, the woman was held in the highest regard. Just as you’re about to say as much and potentially stick your foot in it, your heart stops momentarily only to speed up when you realize that N’Jadaka had gotten down on one knee in your inattention. 

“I had this whole thing planned out. We’d chill at the center, make fun of the whack ass art, then head to that ice cream parlor you kept talkin’ ‘bout, and then I’d wait until after we stopped at the park you like, the one with the fountain. I was gon do it there, pop the question. But shit went sideways.”

Suddenly his anger, which is much more controllable nowadays, at the incident earlier makes all the more sense. “I screwed up the plan.”

“Nah. You just reminded me that I’m better at improving and planning on the fly.” He grinned, showing off white teeth and a little dimple, “So, what do you say? Will you, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, marry me? Make me the happiest nigga on Earth by taking my name? I know I ain’t got much and I still got a long way to go to prove that I’m good enough…”

You hate to interrupt him, but, “Don’t say you’re not good enough. You are literally the other half of my soul, and, and, and I,” Deep breath in then out. “I love you. I cannot think of anyone else I would rather be married to, or Bonded to.” 

So, you’re a coward and lightly asked/implied, that you wanted to Bond. Hopefully he said yes, hopefully–

N’Jadaka catches you up in his arms, kissing you over and over and over again, until you’re breathless with laughter, filled with joy. Then when he delicately slides the ring onto your finger, reflexively you hold it up to admire and it’s perfect, just like you knew it would be. 

“I love you.” You murmur, dizzy with exhilaration. Drunk on it.

“And I love you.” He says.  

And just for that, just because you can, you kiss him again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is only TECHNICALLY complete. Outtakes will be uploaded sporadically about a number of things, especially about the things that I think y'all were impatient and unwilling to hear about lol.

**GOLDEN CITY  
KING’S ROOMS  
** **WAKANDA**

Nakia woke to an empty bed. 

Sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of the corners of her eyes, she looked to the left to see that T’Challa is already up, a robe around his lean frame and watching the sunrise. Not wanting to assume that he is upset, as sometimes, it is just his way; to ponder and overthink about things that he couldn’t control or change (like people’s hearts, a voice whispered at the back of her mind), instead she let the covers fall from her body and put one foot over the edge of the bed followed by the other, and stood up fully, revealing her naked form without a thought or shame, they had been on and off lovers long enough that he knew her body as intimately as his own and vice versa.  

Habit has her walking with silent footsteps as she pads over to him, her hands reached out and wind around his torso, pressing her front to his back. “Talk to me.” 

Less than thirty seconds and his hands twine with hers. “Just the Council, trying to stop the inevitable and bury their heads in the sand. I would have more success talking to a brick wall than I would the Elders.” 

“Fear is a powerful thing. Change can be scary.” Nakia understood. Didn’t agree with it, but she understood. 

“Ahh, was it not you who said that Wakanda is strong enough to protect itself and help others?” T’Challa lightly teased, thumb stroking against the skin of her wrist. “I said this to them and you father nearly blew his top. He has not spoken to or looked in my direction for three days.”

“I might have said the same to him at one point or another.” Nakia says sheepishly. “He probably thinks that I am a bad influence on you…” 

Now T’Challa turns, the motion graceful and fluid, before swooping her up in his arms. Hands around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist so that she didn’t fall, Nakia doesn’t mind that his hands are on her thighs, fingers grazing her ass. “You have my ear and I listen to you, on a great many things, but I am my own person who makes his own choices. On this matter though? I should have listened to you long ago, but fear held  _me_ back as well. Forgive me if I wounded you with my actions.” 

So easily, he saw through her. Knew that she felt a bit slighted and disregarded that it took an outsider, his black sheep cousin, saying what she’d already said… “I am not–” Nakia is sat down on the ledge in the bathroom. “T’Challa, do n–” His lips find the left side of her throat and Nakia let out a short, high pitched needy noise. His mouth and tongue left wet kisses and nips down her body before he placed both hands on her legs, coaxing her to open, which she did slowly, revealing how wet she was from his attentions; she saw his nostrils flare and his eyes darken with arousal.  “I do not forgive you yet.”

“You will.” 

It’s not T’Challa who says that. Heart nearly shooting up to her throat as a feminine hand strokes over her thigh, playing in her slick, the teasing touch making her wetter in response. ‘Oh Bast…’ Of all the times to experience a Bleed, now, it would happen now. Biting her bottom lip, she tries to control herself as that same hand teasingly plays with her clit while T’Challa spreads her legs wider, seeming to find indulgent amusement with the turn of events. “I-Inside…ah,” A finger, much more slender than T’Challa’s, pressed deep inside her, teasingly brushing up against her G-spot, “Inside…me…”

Brows raising mockingly, “Do you forgive me yet?” T’Challa asked, tone calm and unflappable even though Nakia is slowly losing her mind.

“Yes!” Nakia practically shouted, which is all he had been waiting for because he pushed inside her not a second later, not pausing until he’s buried to the hilt, and neither the King or the War Dog are surprised by the Bleed cutting out now, they fuck a little more urgently than either of them had planned to. It’s always more intense when they get a mere glimpse of her, their shared soulmate. It’s not that they don’t love each other, are not in love with each other, because they do and they are. However, there’s something that each of them cannot provide for the other that is suited for their third; an urge, an instinct, that keeps causing Nakia to leave Wakanda’s borders is the same instinct that has T’Challa stay in Wakanda and work on being a better man, a better leader and the best Black Panther of his generation. 

Just as Bast intended. 

T’Challa took her three times before his passions cooled. Once on the tiled floors of the bathroom, again from behind on their bed on all fours, and the final time in the reverse cowgirl position. 

“Do you want me to send someone to bring you breakfast?” His hands stroke down her sides, he’d covered her in the thinnest sheet and knows that he probably wants to go again but she can’t. Wants to, yes, but can’t. ‘The strength of the Black Panther.’ The hazy thought almost sends her into a fit of giggles. “Or I can stay. We can cuddle.” 

“Food, yes, and cuddles would be nice, but we both know Okoye will be beating down the doors soon. We gave the Dora an earful as is.” In her younger years that would have embarrassed her but the women had always been discreet, only teasing if she initiated first. “It is a big day today and I set you back. I was trying to encourage you.”

“Oh, I am encouraged. Consider me very, very encouraged.” T’Challa kissed her brow, lingering for a long moment and just before they can kiss, there’s a knock on the door. He leans his head on her shoulder, whining playfully and she smiled, hand tangling in his curls briefly. Then he’s standing up, taking his warmth with him as he cracked the door and Nakia glances behind her to see that it is indeed Okoye, she and T’Challa exchange words quietly. T’Challa slips out of the room and the general sends a glance her way, expression schooled into indifference, the door closes.

Rolling her eyes discreetly, she plops down again. Although she’s no Queen and T’Challa respects that, at his side is where she’s always expected to be, as per tradition and Okoye certainly is a stickler for that. ‘I need at least thirty minutes to recuperate.’ Pausing, Nakia thinks about that a bit deeper. ‘Okay, at least twenty minutes,  _then_ I’ll get up.’

Eyes slipping closed, she dozed a little.

**BUCHAREST, ROMANIA  
11:12 A.M.**

The scent of breakfast foods wafted around the tiny apartment. Brown legs idly swinging rhythmically back and forth, back and forth, you watch as N’Jadaka prepares a meal for you and himself. Halfheartedly, you’d tried to argue that he didn’t need to do that but he argued back that he was getting burnt out on take out food all the time – which, point to him, so were you. 

So you let him do his thing. 

 **{**  I can feel you watching me.  **}**

No one had ever told you what it’d feel like, being Bonded, having the literal other half of you intertwined and etched so deeply into the fabric of your soul, to the point where touching their mind briefly if only to feel them answer back, is euphoric. Erotic, even.

“Here. Taste this.” N’Jadaka instructed, lifting a spoon to your lips. Blowing gently on the contents, you waited for a few seconds until it cooled then you wrapped your lips around the spoon, tasting something sweet, like sugar and butter. “Good?”

Although he already knew the answer, you nodded, humming happily. “You’re making a big pot of grits, yes?”

“Yea, plus pancakes, sausage, and cheesy eggs.”

**{{ I LOVE YOU. }}**

“I can set the table. Do you want OJ or apple juice this morning?”

“Apple juice, duh.”

“Bast, you’re brave.” You joke, even as you jump down the short distance off the counter to the floor, padding over to the refrigerator to grab the carton of apple juice. “You’re going to be on stage at the world leader’s conference probably farting repeatedly the entire time you’re up there.” 

“Ughh, you talkin’ ‘bout farts. You nasty, girl.” N’Jadaka laughed, amused at you. “You know what they say, ‘you smelt it, you dealt it’, and forreal, who gon say somethin’ anyway?”

Setting the juice down, you’re retrieving plates and cutlery when the last remark causes your shoulders to tremble as you shook with laughter.

Breakfast is spent laughing and joking, eating off each other’s plates and stealing kisses. Touching each other and enjoying each other’s presence. Afterwards, the dishes are loaded into the dishwasher. 

The shower that you take together is quiet, but intimate. 

He helps you wash your hair and just as you’d taught him a few months ago, he sections and greases your scalp, never being too rough (especially after you’d ripped into him a little the first time, being tender headed is no joke) and hands you hair products and watches as you do your hair in a traditional Border Tribe style. The entire process leaves you more than a little drained but with how in awe he looks when you’re finished? 

Worth the effort.

“Yooo, you look fly as fuck, ma. Lemme take a picture.”

“No, N’Jadaka.” 

“But, please!”

A knock on the door stops his half playful queries and he leaves the bedroom to go get it. A few minutes after you clean up the mess that you’d made of the bathroom and the sink counter. Then go to see what’s the hold up. Only when you step into the living room, it’s the host of Timeless Everyday, [insert name here].

“Oh. Mah. Gah.” The woman reaches out and lightly taps N’Jadaka on the shoulder. You briefly contemplate drop kicking her, which your soulmate picks up on and throws you a contrite expression, pleading for you to calm down. Talk about role reversal. “Hi! Erik never told me about you,” You side eye him, “Being so cute. Thank goodness I brought my best gear.”

What?

“What?” You’re so confused. 

Two more people, both women, enter the tiny flat, carrying duffle bags. 

“I’m a seamstress, which the media always conveniently forgets to mention while always sticking new titles like entertainer and comedian to my name, but whatever, its whatever!” Flapping her hand as if swatting a fly, she walks over to you, carefully but firmly turning you around in a circle. Now it’s N’Jadaka’s turn to look discomfited, and you’re trying to keep him calm, “He told me what a big day today is, and I’m gonna hook you up, bookie. Yalanna, Simone, y’all bitches know what to do, so let’s get it, whoo-whoop!”

The next few hours are a bit of a whirlwind from there. You’re poked, prodded, measured. So many outfits are selected and discarded. Through it all, you learn more about [insert name here], that she grew up with N’Jadaka in Oakland for a few years but had to move away for personal reasons but her immediate family still stayed there. You learned that she traveled a lot, trying to spread awareness and facts, not myths, about tri-soulbonds, that she owned a chain of clothing stores, though the main one is stationed in Oakland and largely ran by her older cousin. 

“BAM!” With jazz hands, she moves to the side and you and N’Jadaka stare at each, admiring the new outfits selected for the event. “Dayum, I dun did it again. Look at all this melanin in the room, looking so glorious.” Reaching into her shirt pocket, she pulled out a cellphone, aiming at you and N’Jadaka. “Wait, wait, wait, pose. Do it for the lolz.” 

N’Jadaka burst into laughter, “You so fucking corny, bruh.” 

“If you do this, you ain’t gotta pay me but half.” She bargained.

N’Jadaka looked at you, wordlessly asking if this is what you wanted, you shrug and the two of you embrace in a hug, he’s staring down at you as if you’re the most important thing in his world and you know you’re looking back at him as if he’s the same; neither of you hear the click of the camera as picture after picture is taken. 

“See y’all fellow kings and queens later, I gotta go. Gotta goooo.”

“I’ll pay you triple if you forward me those pics after you upload’em on your site.” N’Jadaka says just before she could walk out the door, you turn your head and see her blow a kiss at you both, waving animatedly as her two employees follow after. Then it’s just you and he again, as it’s meant to be. 

 **{**  It’s gon be hectic, still wanna go through wit it?  **}**

**{{ WHERE ELSE AM I TO BE OTHER THAN RIGHT BY YOUR SIDE? }}**

**VIENNA, AUSTRIA  
WORLD LEADERS CONFRENCE  
4:25 P.M.**

Erik stands side by side his…his  _king_ , as T’Challa delivers the speech, half wondering if Okoye and Nakia had something to do with it or if that’s something that the nigga got off the top of his dome. 

Whatever, it was pretty dope, not that he’d tell his cousin that. 

Then this old cracker couldn’t wait to open his wrinkled mouth and spew his bullshit? 

Muthafu– “Hold on to ya lily white butts!” Hands slamming down on the podium, he looks down at the speaker and then into the crowd, watching the shock and mortification and amusement spread throughout the room. Cameras flashed, reporters went into a frenzy. They wanted a show, he’d give these idiots a show they’d never forget. “We know Amerikka’s been thirsty, tryna figure out Wakanda’s secrets for the longest, and we givin’ y’all a tease, so sitcho ass down.” 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Someone else on the panel asks, and it’s a female, with South Asian features, early thirties. 

“This is N’Jadaka, my cousin…” T’Challa’s dramatic as fuck because he pauses, “And royal adviser.” 

The reporters are practically frothing at the mouth now, camera lights flashing everywhere and he needs a drink. It’s not even five o’clock but the stupidity is just too much. He mostly lets T’Challa handle it because he’s good at this publicity thing, only stepping in when he feels as if somebody’s trying to be shady and disrespectful and his soft as fuck cousin is too nice to say something. He can sense the derision, that they’re looking down on him as if he’s just another nigga from the hood, and he switches it up, putting on his best white boy voice for the black reporters who actually speak with sense, and the other leaders from different countries; they know the game. 

They respect it. 

To beat a colonizer, you gotta think twenty steps ahead of a colonizer. White people rarely picked up on the tactic because they were too busy choking on their own superiority. 

“Ow! Whatchu hittin’ me wit yo purse for, Auntie?!” Clutching at his arm, he stared at his maternal aunt incredulously after she popped him one. 

“Boy, on national television?” Again, she hit him. “You ain’t too old to getcho ass whooped!”

Y/N had already met her once and while Auntie Jo had warmed up to her towards the end of the visit, she knew better than to come closer lest she be a victim of a whooping too. W’Kabi was too busy laughing to be of any help, as were Ayo and Okoye, and Shuri was recording this embarrassing encounter.

“Ahhh, that’s whatchu get, Erik!” [Insert name here] teased, in stitches and steadily taking pictures. “Hit’em on the left side, Auntie!” She cheered, only to freeze as said woman turned a glare in her direction. ‘Shit!’ About to run off, she turned too fast and slipped. Windmilling her arms, she tried to stand up right but she was going downdowndown when someone reached down and snagged her wrist. 

“Are you alright?”

When she looked up, it was to see King T’Challa, and a pretty dark skinned woman in a lovely yellow dress. But more than that…

They were her soulmates. 

##                                                        …  
                                                 THE END  
                              *CUE THE CROWD LAUGHING*  
                                            JFK  
                                        STAY TUNED FOR

##                                                       …

##                                            WHAT IS LOVE?


	12. Outtakes #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader proves she’s a badass and Erik is more than a bit turned on.
> 
> Also when she and Erik first encounter ‘Hunters’; Pray for Me and What is Love? is all a part of the same universe, so some things interconnect and get mentioned in the sequel. Boop.

**SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH  
** 1 ½ MONTHS AFTER LEAVING WAKANDA  
8:32 P.M. 

“So, run this by me again.” Erik is lowkey digging these wireless communicators, kind of like bluetooth headsets but even better. “Rukiya sent you details about where a shipment of African artifacts are being moved…” He opened the car door, only to find the key in the middle of the hand rest. 

‘That’s a robbery waiting to happen.’

He can hear the roar of a motorcycle very clearly. “And normally there’s only one or two security detail cars tagging the shipments.” He can hear your voice in his ear, almost as if you’re right next to him. 

Wakanda got the good shit, clearly.

The car purred to life after he twisted the key in the ignition. “But there’s more than two cars acting as security detail today. Okay, I’m not seeing the issue? Besides it’s starting to get dark and this road is empty for miles except for the dock that extends past that hard pass through the canyon. Maybe they just consider this shipment more valuable than the others?”

“N’Jadaka, you’re rambling.” Your voice is quiet, but comforting. “I told you that sometimes things get very complicated while performing such transactions, yes?”

“There ain’t no artifacts being transported, is it?”

There’s a long silence. A  **GUILTY** silence.

“ _Y/N_.” He can already feel a headache coming on.

“Well, to be fair, there might  _technically_ be an artifact or two…” You drag out your words. “I just didn’t know how to tell you that sometimes, only sometimes, do I do things like this.”

“We gon talk ‘bout this shit when we back at the hotel.” Erik stated, his voice ringing with finality. “Speed up. I’m coming in hot. There’s a tail that just pulled up on yo ass.” 

“I see him.” You murmur, voice soft, an edge of something darker that had his dick twitching in his pants.

‘Not the time.’ 

Pushing the lever out of park, he put his foot on the gas pedal and the car burst through the metal ramp designed to keep cars from going over the edge  ~~(A/N: Y’all know the technical term)~~. He’s airborne for a few minutes before gravity does it’s job and he’s hitting the side of the hill, laughing wildly, a bit crazily, like a madman. Dirt and debris kick up every which way as Erik whips and turns the car this way and that. Near the bottom, the car smashes directly into a tinted black car speeding after an individual on a motorcycle. 

Shifting the gear so that he backed up, he put his foot on the gas pedal and rammed the car forward, metal and metal screeched and shot off sparks. 

“Did you get him?”

Pressing a button, Erik is impressed when  **AN ACTUAL MACHINE GUN**  appeared at the top. The person attempted to open his or her door but again he pressed the button and the machine gun fired off several rounds. 

“Yea, they definitely gone.” Putting the car in reverse, he zoomed by the car which had been shot up to hell and back and the two people, white – male and female – are dead. “I’ma catch up wit’chu.”

“Good, stay on my tail. I feel better knowing you’ve got my back.”  

Definitely not the time to be popping inappropriate boners, but she’s cute. So fucking cute. 

And so he and Y/N engage these people in something of a car chase. People are firing on them, and he has a mini heart attack every time he sees her perform a daredevil stunt to shake them off and confuse them. Eventually, Erik does catch up to her in the car and they’re side by side. 

The back door of the armored convoy opens, revealing a heavily muscled male with a shotgun. Behind him are several people of all race, age, and color, they’re in chains. 

Grinding his teeth, he put his foot on the pedal, willing the car to drive faster. Y/N has stood up on the motorcycle, balancing herself as she does a sort of ballerina swan spin/dive and threw a wicked looking [chakram ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2Fa6%2F22%2F7e%2Fa6227ed4908f7bb8885fd7ef7ca43c9e.jpg&t=NjAxOWRiODBjMWRiOTk3MzBhZmE5MTQxMDE1NTc2NjNhOGQ2ZGJhMCxFcHNMemdzdQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AXMk1TwzrxXLoAD7rDaBoCw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthekrazykeke.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174152341397%2Fpray-for-me-outtakes-1&m=1)at the gunman just as he fired. The bullet is sliced in half and bounces harmlessly on the shield of the car while the chakram ricochets off the caravan’s side wall and hit the gunman in the chest. 

“Come on, come on, come on…” 

Y/N’s kimoyo beads lit up and the chakram returned to her hold. Erik watches as she parkour’s to the top of the moving vehicle and strides forward… He pulls to the left and speeds up. Just as he’s a few feet from almost passing the van up, he notes that she tosses the chakram again, severing the lever which kept it attached to the other containers and shipments. Pulling out his gun, he fires two rounds into the skull of the driver before hitting the breaks as his soulmate swings her body in through the open driver seat’s window, taking the wheel and control of the vehicle. 

“We got this?”

“Ohh, we so got this.” The van with Y/N driving takes off first and he watches as the other cars stopped, doing U-turns as they realized belatedly what had happened. Flicking a lever on both sides of the car revealed a rocket launcher and something that looked straight out of a video game; perhaps an energy blaster. ‘Ooo, what does this button do?’ Pressing the button that said ‘Warning!’ Erik grinned as the cars were lit up like the Fourth of July by that energy. 

“I want this car for my birthday.”

“It’s on a loan from Rukiya. Ask really nice and she’ll give it to you. Meet you back at the hotel?” 

“Yeah. I just wanna check something.” 

While wading through the wreckage and carnage, eventually after thirty minutes, Erik finds a severed hand with a strange [tattoo](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2F93%2F7a%2F33%2F937a33bcb4b552172800d9e5bfe6f12c.jpg&t=NTZkMTgyMmM1NzQzYTExZjBlY2RmYWQxNDgwZTZkZDA5ZjRhZjRmMCxFcHNMemdzdQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AXMk1TwzrxXLoAD7rDaBoCw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthekrazykeke.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174152341397%2Fpray-for-me-outtakes-1&m=1). Throwing it in the trunk, he figures that Rukiya might know something; she’s the expert of experts, as they say. And when the car pulled off, [it changed colors](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fmedia.giphy.com%2Fmedia%2F8sats9yk1Xqso%2Fgiphy.gif&t=MjFiNzZkZTg2NWY1MDg2YTk2MTM2NzQ2MzYzYjlmYTY0NWY1ODgyOCxFcHNMemdzdQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AXMk1TwzrxXLoAD7rDaBoCw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthekrazykeke.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174152341397%2Fpray-for-me-outtakes-1&m=1); there’s a new license plate and everything. 

Nah.  _Rukiya_ had the good shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything interconnects.  
> Pew pew pew~


	13. Outtakes #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine has lived through many things that would’ve broken someone weaker. Of course, no one ever said that you could meet your soulmate beyond the age of thirty five…

She has a headache. 

“Check the list again.” Keeping her voice soft and patient, she stares the two meat head security guards that are acting as a barricade preventing her from entering the higher floors of this building where the conference would take place.

“Ma’am, we’ve already checked the list. You are not on it.” Meathead #1 says in a bland, ‘I’m so tired of repeating this’ voice. 

“I understand that you’ve checked it, exactly once, but please check it again.” Really, she’s [too cute](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fthejeansblog.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2016%2F12%2Fmary-j-blige-paige-jeans-3.jpg&t=YmM5OGRkN2NlNzJhYTI3NDlmODc1ZmYxNWQ3NjY4MWQ5Nzc0MTdkZSxFNGZSNEJsag%3D%3D&b=t%3AXMk1TwzrxXLoAD7rDaBoCw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthekrazykeke.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174283756652%2Fpray-for-me-outtakes-2) for all this madness and stress. 

“Look, we’ve come across many crazies claiming to be kin to one royal or president and you’re just another of a long, long list. Just not  _this_ list.” Meathead #2 is less patient and utterly rude. 

Before Josephine could check his ass and cause a whole scene, a dark skinned male paused in his stride and walks over to them. “Excuse me, but I could not help but overhear the commotion and ask what the problem is?” 

“Why don’t you just m–” Meathead #2 whirled around, about to snap on the fellow but he stopped, his already pale features becoming paler. “Ahhh, W’Kabi, sir–”

The male, now identified as W’Kabi, held up a hand. “It is  **CHIEFTAIN** W’Kabi. My official title is much longer than that but as you are already mangling my name,” Josephine bit the inside of her cheek to stop the snort wanting to escape. “I will not abuse my poor ears, and, and, oh, excuse me, miss, what is your name?”

Straightening her spine, giving the security guards a look up and then down, she turned her attention to W’Kabi who is patiently waiting for her answer. “Josephine Thomas.” 

Without missing a beat, he continued on to say, “I will not abuse my or Miss Thomas’ ears any longer with this foolishness.” Meathead #2 looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. “Check the list again, but look underneath the ‘Wakandan Party’.” He crossed his hands in front of his chest. “I will wait.” 

Meathead #1 is faster and when he looks up, Josephine can read the truth on his face. “I am s–”

Again, W’Kabi interjected. “Yes, you are both very sorry. Very sorry individuals and men in general, but that is neither here nor there. I should not have to tell you that you have failed spectacularly in the basic duty which you’ve been given, which is to check all the names thoroughly, not just once, but several times in case there’s been an update in information.”

There’s a long, tense silence. 

“If you had been in Wakanda and under my jurisdiction, you’d have been released from your positions immediately.” W’Kabi smiled, and it’s not particularly nice. “Luckily for you both, this is America, eh?” With that said, he turned his attention fully to Josephine and gallantly offers an arm. “Shall we, Miss Josephine?”

Ooh, someone had manners. “We shall.” Linking arms with his, she matched his stride as they began to walk away. Over her shoulder, Josephine couldn’t resist, “Bye Tito and Larry!”

W’Kabi laughed, utterly amused. 

As soon as they’re on the elevator and he releases his hold to press the number ‘four’, her curiosity won’t stop eating at her. “You already knew who I was.” 

He nodded. “Prince N’Jadaka is very private about many things, but he is never shy about speaking to my sister about you, and how proud he is to have been raised by such a… To paraphrase him, ‘a strong and wise black woman’.” His accent turns the final words into pure poetry. The awe and respect in his voice for  _her_ , even though he doesn’t even  **KNOW** her… “Aiiie, I’m sorry. I did not mean to upset you.” W’Kabi offers her an expensive looking handkerchief. 

“I’m fine.” The words are automatic, but only partially true. “Really, it’s just been a long day.” Josephine insists, dabbing at her eyes. 

He nods again. “I can only imagine.” W’Kabi is clearly thinking about those two meathead guards. “Do not worry. I will do my utmost to see them terminated for their rudeness.”

The pettiness is off the charts. “Just for rudeness?”

“In Wakanda, a woman is to be cherished and protected, respected, by her father, her husband, brother, son. This is the way that I grew up learning, and so when I see the women here being treated as lesser…” 

The elevator doors open and a man dressed in purple garb, a ceremonial robe perhaps, stops chatting with the woman dressed similarly and looks directly at her. Josephine’s purse drops from her numb fingers as she maintains eye contact, unable to look away. 

“Zuri, is everything…Oh…Oh Bast…” 

Words aren’t forthcoming and her vision is becoming blurry again. Blinking, the tear dripped down her cheek, followed by another and another. The man, Zuri, her soulmate, oh God, oh God, what, he reaches a hand out, hesitating to actually touch her.

“May I…?”

A lump is in her throat and it’s hard to breathe but she nods. Zuri’s hand continues it’s destination, as he clasped hands with her, gently coaxing her forward. It feels as if a hundred eyes are staring at her and she raises her free hand in front of her face, futilely trying to maintain some dignity. 

Calloused, slightly wrinkled fingers moved her hand out of the way. “Please. It is…it’s okay…” His voice is husky, choked up. “It’s…okay to…” Giving up on the meaningless platitudes, Zuri shook his head and a tear fell down both his cheeks. “ _I’m sorry it took me so long to find you_ …!” 

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.” 


End file.
